


Echoes in the Dark

by Dawnsunrise (sunrize83)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/Dawnsunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin may be the only one who can help find a missing agent. There's just one problem . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I have heard the echoes in the dark_  
 _Dim and distant voices of the past_  
 _And I've seen so far into the night_  
 _And lingered in the land of no light_

\--Uriah Heep

 

_Oh, no. We're too late._

Chris stepped over the body sprawled across the threshold, barely noticing the blood that squished beneath his boot. He kicked a Glock away from the limp hand, unable to tear his eyes from the slumped figure tied to a folding chair in the center of the room. Blood-matted hair hung like a curtain, obscuring the face, but the filthy flannel shirt and well-worn jeans were achingly familiar. _Dear God, Vin. What did they do to you?_

"Clear." Buck strode out of the adjacent room, tucking his weapon into the waistband at the small of his back as he crouched beside the chair and touched two fingers to Vin's neck. All the breath seemed to rush from his lungs, and he looked up at Chris with glistening eyes. "He's alive!"

When Chris remained frozen, he frowned. "You hear me, Pard?"

It got Chris moving on wobbly legs. He knelt opposite Buck, who had pulled a knife from his boot and was sawing through the plastic ties binding Vin's bare feet. Chris brushed aside tangled curls, wincing at the blackened eye, split lip, and livid bruise across Vin's cheek.

"Vin? Hey, it's Chris. Can you open your eyes for me?" He tipped up Vin's face, cradling his chin, but his friend didn't respond.

"Shit!" Buck hissed from where he'd moved to free Vin's hands.

"What?"

"Damn restraints are embedded in his skin." Buck's voice wavered. "I nicked his left wrist. Get ready, I've almost--there."

Chris caught Vin as he sagged bonelessly against his chest. "Get Nathan and those EMTs in here. Now." He eased his friend to the floor, not liking the shallow, uneven sound of his breathing.

Controlled chaos drifted in from the hallway--hurried footsteps, slamming doors, shouted commands, and over it all, Buck's rich baritone bellowing for Nathan. Chris knelt on the dusty floor, hands clenched into fists, his compulsion to touch warring with his fear of causing Vin's battered body more pain.

"Damn, Cowboy, you're a mess," he murmured, his eyes stinging and his throat tight. "A bullet's too good for these bastards."

Nathan burst into the room, shrugging his backpack off his shoulders as he knelt at Vin's side. "Paramedics are on their way in. How is he?"

"How the hell does he look?" Chris snapped the words, frustration and anger bubbling over before he could rein them in. He sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry."

But Nathan, preoccupied with Vin, seemed not to notice. "Broken ribs, multiple fractures to his fingers," he muttered, more to himself than to Chris. Frowning at the blood trail down Vin's neck, he pulled out a penlight. Even Chris could see Vin's left pupil was sluggish.

"Nathan?"

"At the least a damn severe concussion. But it could be a skull fracture."

The EMTs appeared in the doorway, laden down with equipment and a gurney. "Don't bother, that one's dead," Chris growled when one knelt beside the body. He crossed the room in three quick strides, grasped the kidnapper's arms and hauled him out of the way.

Nathan was already spouting information on Vin's condition, and his voice held a sharp urgency that made Chris's stomach do a slow roll. He glared into the glassy eyes of the man who'd tortured his best friend. "Why? Who are you, and what did you want?"

"Chris." Buck stepped into the room, followed closely by Ezra and Jim Spencer, Team 5's leader. "We got everything locked down."

"Donovan?"

Spencer set his mouth in a harsh line. "No sign of him."

Chris toed the body. "What about his associates?" he asked Buck.

"Two at the back door and another in the stairwell."

"Alive?"

Buck shook his head. "Whoever they are, they weren't about to be brought in for questioning."

"Shit."

"What about Tanner?" Spencer gestured over Chris's shoulder to where the paramedics were barking instructions and juggling equipment. Nathan and Ezra stood nearby in grim silence.

"He's in bad shape. Bastards really worked him over."

"How soon do you think we'll be able to talk to him?"

"Jim, he's not even conscious, he--" Chris broke off, stunned, when Spencer turned and headed for Nathan.

Buck cleared his throat. "Cut him some slack, Chris, you know you'd--"

Chris gritted his teeth and followed, shrugging off Buck's restraining hand on his arm. 

". . . make a guess," he heard Spencer saying. 

Nathan was shaking his head. "There's no way to predict that until we know the extent of his injuries."

"Isn't there anything they can do to speed things up? I need to talk to him."

"No one's questioning him until a doctor clears it," Chris said.

Spencer rounded on him. "I've got a man out there somewhere, in God knows what condition! Tanner may be the only one who can help us find him."

The anguish in his voice defused Chris's anger. How hard would he be pushing if Vin were the one still missing? 

"We're going to do everything we can to find Donovan; you have my word. But, Jim--look at him." He waited for Spencer to see--really see--Vin. "Right now he can't help anyone," he said quietly.

Spencer's shoulders slumped. "Keep me posted?"

"You know I will."

"I'll oversee the mop up. I'm sure you want to head to the hospital."

"Thanks."

Spencer paused in the doorway. "Chris . . . "

"We'll find him, Jim."

Chris turned to Buck once Spencer had gone. "Round up J.D. and get him back to the office. We've got to figure out who these guys are and, more importantly, who they were working for, because I don't for a moment believe they masterminded this operation. We also need to check if any of our old friends are out on parole. If some bastard is out for revenge--"

"I fear what happened to Mr. Tanner may involve something far more insidious than retaliation," Ezra said, his attention fixed on the frenetic activity surrounding Vin.

"What do you mean?" Chris demanded.

"Perhaps in your concern over his more obvious injuries you failed to notice his feet."

"His feet?" Chris stared blankly at Standish, then Nathan, who tightened his lips and avoided Chris's eyes. "Will one of you please spit it out?"

Ezra finally looked at him. "These cretins evidently decided Vin required their warped version of a pedicure." His voice vibrated with repressed fury. "He seems to be missing several toenails."

The headache that had been throbbing insistently at the back of Chris's skull flared to life and his gut burned. "You think they were after information?"

Nathan sighed. "It's a good possibility, Chris. He's got a fair number of injuries--the broken fingers, some cuts an' cigarette burns--that cause a lot of pain without permanent damage. And I'm pretty damn sure the bruises on the inside of his right arm are from injections."

"Son of a bitch," Buck snarled.

Chris ran a hand through his hair, the rage he'd felt earlier returning with a vengeance. "Buck, tell J.D.--"

"Got it covered, Chris." 

"Concentrate on our open cases, especially the last bust, before you start digging through the files. Ezra--"

"I shall lend Mr. Dunne my full support."

"All right, get going. We've got a missing man whose time is running out."

Ezra touched two fingers to his brow and headed out the door, but Buck lingered, his gaze flickering between Vin and Chris. "Our butts might be stuck in the office but our hearts will be with Vin. You call us as soon as you hear something--anything."

"Count on it." 

The paramedics had Vin on the gurney and were wheeling him toward the door. The older of the two, who appeared to be in charge, waved his partner onward and stopped to talk to Chris and Nathan.

"We're taking him to Mercy," he told them. "The docs in the ER are standing by."

"How's he doing?" Chris asked.

"Stable--for now." Chris opened his mouth to demand more information, but the paramedic was already moving. "We'll take good care of him," he called over his shoulder.

Chris growled his frustration but Nathan laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Let him go, Chris. We'll be right behind them."

Chris rubbed the ache at the base of his neck. "That's where we've been for the last three days--behind. I've gotta tell you, Nathan--I'm damned tired of it."

"I know how you feel, but . . ."

"Forget it." He waved off Nathan's comforting words, in no mood to hear them. "Let's ride."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

If God really did exist--and the jury was still out on that one--He must enjoy screwing with Chris Larabee's head. Chris sat hunched over, clasped hands dangling between his knees, and wondered how the hell he ended up spending so much time in a place he hated more than just about anywhere else. 

He could swear he heard God chuckling.

Three days of too little sleep and too much coffee left his stomach burning and his nerves thrumming. Torn between his obligations as team leader and those as Vin's friend, right now he felt hopelessly inadequate at both. There was work to be done--Sean Donovan was missing, and every tick of the clock lowered his chances of being found alive. He should probably be back at the office, briefing Travis, overseeing the continuing investigation, not to mention pacifying Spencer. There was nothing he could do here but wait.

But he'd be damned if he was going anywhere.

A red-and-white carton appeared in front of Chris's face. He leaned back slowly, quirking one eyebrow. "That supposed to be for me?"

Nathan pressed the milk into Chris's hand. "You see anyone else around here?"

"I asked for coffee."

"Ain't no way I'm contributing to that ulcer you been workin' on."

"You're over-reacting."

"And you're in denial. You think I haven't seen you popping antacids like they're candy? Looks to me like you got enough heartburn to light up Las Vegas."

"It's not that bad," Chris said, but he opened the carton and took a swig.

"Right. Well if you got half the sense God gave you, you'll drink all of that and start cutting back on the coffee and booze." Nathan sank into the chair beside him with a weary grunt.

Chris downed half the carton, grimacing. "What's taking so long anyway?"

"Last I heard they were setting his fingers while the neurologist looked over the CT scan. We should--"

But Chris was on his feet and striding toward the doctor who'd stepped through the swinging doors and was scanning the room.

"Mr. Larabee?"

"I'm Chris Larabee." 

The doc shook his hand. "Nick Lorenzo; I've been taking care of Agent Tanner."

"You're the neurologist?" _You've got to be kidding._ Chris shook the doctor's hand, not even trying to hide his skepticism. Lorenzo looked about the same age as Vin. He sported a garish Hawaiian shirt under his white lab coat, shoulder-length dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and an earring in his left ear.

Lorenzo just grinned. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" He flipped open the chart in his hands, instantly all business. "Despite the extent of the injuries inflicted upon Agent Tanner, the blow to his head is the only one we're really concerned about. Now, the good news is that he didn't sustain a skull fracture and there doesn't seem to be any intercranial bleeding."

"Thank God," Nathan murmured. 

"This is Nathan Jackson, another of Vin's teammates," Chris answered Lorenzo's inquiring look. "He's been trained as an EMT."

"From the buzz I've heard about your team, sounds like you need him."

Chris narrowed his eyes, but Lorenzo plowed ahead before he could comment.

"The bad news is that your friend's got a grade 3 concussion which, as I'm sure Mr. Jackson can tell you, is nothing to mess around with. We've got him in the ICU, for now, and we're going to be monitoring him very closely."

"But he'll be all right," Chris pressed.

"Barring complications, yes, he'll make a full recovery. But he's had his bell thoroughly rung, Mr. Larabee. This isn't something he's going to shake off in a few days."

Chris exchanged a long look with Nathan. "Doc, we've got an agent still missing. Vin may have information on his whereabouts."

Lorenzo shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. He's going to be extremely sick and disoriented when he regains consciousness." 

Though Nathan had already given him a similar warning, Chris had to bite back a surge of disappointment. "I'm going to want one of my men with him at all times."

"We have rules in the ICU, Mr. Larabee--"

"We have rules in the ATF too, Dr. Lorenzo, and one of them is that we don't abandon a teammate who's been abducted and tortured. Not for any reason." Chris's tone was sharper than he'd intended, but he was too tired and frustrated to care.

"Easy, Chris," Nathan murmured, but Lorenzo held up a hand.

"You didn't let me finish. As I was about to say, we have rules, but hard as it might be to believe, I'm not exactly the poster boy for following them. I can't begin to imagine what your friend has suffered over the past few days. There's no way I'm going to deny him his support system."

Chris inclined his head. "Thank you."

The easy grin slid off Lorenzo's face and Chris abruptly found himself on the other end of one of his own threatening glares. "But if I find you or any of your men are becoming detrimental to his recovery, I'll have your asses on the curb before you can say 'Doogie Howser.' Am I clear?"

He should probably be pissed off by the suggestion that he'd jeopardize Vin's health, but Chris found his lips curving with a hint of amusement as he nodded.

Lorenzo's cocky smile returned. "Good. ICU is up on the fourth floor--but I guess you gentlemen already know that. I'll be by to check on him in a bit."

Chris responded with the shark's grin that sent most men into a cold sweat. "I'll look forward to it."

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. "All right then. The elevators are that way." He stuck the chart under his arm and gestured, his posture wary.

"Not nice," Nathan said as Chris punched the up button, but there was laughter in his voice. "Poor kid's got no idea you actually like him."

Chris stepped into the empty car with a poorly concealed smirk. "Let's go see Vin."


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so maybe Nathan was right about the ulcer.

Chris shoved aside a half-consumed cup of tepid coffee and fished the roll of antacids from his pocket. Grimacing at the chalky taste, he paced around the cubicle, slinking back to his chair when one of the nurses shot a reproving glare through the glass wall. Though he felt ready to crawl out of his skin, he was wise enough to recognize who wielded the real power in the ICU. Piss off the nurses, and his ass really would be on that curb Lorenzo had promised him.

Vin shifted and made a soft sound of distress. He'd been edging toward consciousness for the last half-hour, increasingly restless though he'd yet to open his eyes. Chris placed his hand over the splinted fingers, keeping the touch light enough to convey warmth without pain. 

Vin sucked in a strangled gasp and his eyes flew open. He stared at the ceiling, every muscle rigid.

"Hey. Welcome back." Chris leaned in close, deliberately placing himself in Vin's line of sight.

That wide blue gaze wandered to his face and Vin blinked. "Chris?" His voice was a harsh croak, more breath than substance, but it carried a heartbreaking note of disbelief. "What . . . I . . . where--?" He choked on the raspy words and screwed up his face.

"Hang on." Chris picked up the plastic cup on the bedside table. "No, don't--"

But Vin, who had already tried lifting his head, slammed his eyes shut with a groan. He scrabbled blindly, somehow catching Chris's sleeve with his uninjured right hand.

Chris let go of the cup so fast it nearly hit the floor. "Damn, Vin, I should've warned you not to--"

"Gonna be sick."

"Shit!" Chris hit the call button, easing Vin onto his side just in time.

There wasn't much to come up--God only knew when Vin had eaten last--but the spasms had to be agony on his ribs and head. Each one wrenched a whimper of pain and tears leaked from the corners of his friend's tightly closed eyes. Chris stroked back tangled hair, peripherally aware of the nurse entering the cubicle and checking machine readouts.

"Do something!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Vin's retching tapered off to panting and he went limp. Chris might have thought he'd drifted off again, but for the fingers knotted in his sleeve.

"Help me get him on his back," said the nurse, whose nametag read "Annie," folding the sheet to cover the mess Vin had made.  
Between the two of them, they managed to settle Vin in a supine position with a minimum of distress. Annie wiped Vin's face with a damp cloth, then recorded his vital signs, including pupil response. Despite the glare Chris had gotten earlier, her manner was calm and soothing.

"Mr. Tanner--"

"Vin," Chris said quietly.

She flashed him a quick smile and a nod. "Vin, can you tell me your full name?"

He blinked heavy eyelids, trying to bring a hand up to his face. "Chris?"

Chris stepped closer. "Right here, Cowboy."

"Too bright."

Annie dimmed the lights to a more bearable level. "Better?"

Vin started to nod but caught himself. "Yeah."

"Now, can you tell me your full name?"

"Kevin Tanner."

She beamed a smile, flashing dimples that would've had Buck falling all over himself. "That's good. How about the year?"

"Um . . . 2014."

"Do you know where you are?"

Vin looked at him, and for the first time Chris noticed that his eyes were slightly vague and out of focus. It took him longer to answer than it should have, and he slurred the word a little. "Hospital?"

"Very good. Do you know why you're here?"

Another slow blink and Vin's eyes stayed at half-mast.

Annie cupped his chin. "Look at me, Vin. Do you remember why you're here?"

"I--" Vin ran his tongue over his split lip and his gaze drifted back to Chris. "Hurts."

"What hurts, Pard? Your head?"

"Everything." He breathed the word on a sigh and his eyes fluttered shut.

"It's okay," Annie answered Chris's panicked look. She came around the bed, giving his arm a supportive squeeze. "He's going to be in and out for a while--that's completely normal given the degree of concussion. I'll be back in a few minutes with a fresh gown and sheets."

Chris nodded but couldn't seem to pull his gaze from Vin's pale, bruised face.

"Hey." Annie waited for him to look at her before continuing. "I know how bad he looks, Mr. Larabee. But all this equipment tells me he's doing just fine."

"It's Chris," he said, mustering a weak smile.

The dimples reappeared. "We'll take good care of him, Chris. Everything's under control."

"Thank you."

Chris sank into his chair, weighed down by exhaustion and inadequacy. As hard as he tried to focus on the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the gentle rise and fall of Vin's chest, other images forced their way into his thoughts. Images of broken fingers and cracked ribs; cuts, burns, and missing toenails. And Vin, fighting so hard the plastic restraints cut into his skin. Screaming until ruined vocal chords turned his honeyed drawl into a wispy rasp.

Was Sean Donovan out there somewhere, still trying to fight, trying to scream?

Chris buried his face in shaking hands. Everything under control? Nothing could be farther from the truth.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The soft scuff of boots, a flickering shadow, and Chris came fully awake. He was on his feet, weapon in hand, before his brain registered that it was Buck standing on the other side of the bed, wearing a shit-eating grin.

"Hey there, ol' dog. Sleep well?"

Chris relaxed, now registering the crick in his neck and the hollow, pinched feeling in his gut. "Damn it, Buck. You should've let me know you were here. I could've taken your head off."

Unperturbed, Buck shrugged. "Well, you looked so darned cute I just didn't have the heart to wake you."

Chris tucked away his gun. "You do realize only one of us is supposed to be in here at a time."

"Relax, stud. You should know by now that the usual rules don't apply to ol' Buck. I happen to have the lovely Nurse Annie's blessing."

"Wanted you out of her hair, did she?" But his heart wasn't really in the banter, and frankly, neither was Buck's. 

"How's he doing?" Buck fiddled with the blanket, then the I.V. line.

Chris sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "They tell me as well as can be expected."

"Sounds like there's a 'but' in there somewhere."

How could he tell Buck that Vin had only surfaced twice, too sick and confused to make much sense? "Nah--don't mind me. How's things at the office? Any progress?"

"J.D. and Ezra got their heads closer than Siamese twins. Nothing yet, but they're not about to leave a stone unturned. Nathan's helping Josiah tackle the paperwork and keep Travis briefed."

Chris heard clearly what he wasn't saying. "And Spencer? I expected him to turn up here by now." 

A pained expression flickered across Buck's face before he smoothed it away. "Yeah, well, you can thank Travis for that. He's been running interference, keepin' Jim on a pretty short leash."

"Guess I'm going to owe the old bastard when this is done." He narrowed his eyes. "So what brings you here?"

"Someone needed to check on Junior." He waggled his eyebrows. "My way with the nurses makes me the ideal man for the job."

"Funny. I'd've guessed Nathan sent you to check up on me."

"That's the problem with you--always thinkin' the world revolves around Chris Larabee." Buck leaned against the end of the bed and folded his arms. "Though you've been here nearly twelve hours and he might've mentioned you could use a break."

"And I'm telling you what I told him--I'm fine." His temper sparked when Buck rolled his eyes. "I am."

"You really expect me to believe that? 'Cause I'm here to tell ya, I seen corpses that look--"

"Buck." 

"Chris this ain't your fault. You know that, don't you?"

Did he? Three days spinning their wheels, getting nowhere, while Vin . . . Finding him had been a fluke--a tip from a witness that led to a trail that ended in an abandoned warehouse.

He was the leader of the ATF's crack team, with a solve rate others only dreamed of. He should've worked harder, put the pieces together faster. Vin had needed him, and he'd . . .

He'd been too late.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Well that's too damn bad, 'cause you're gonna listen to what I've got to say. That boy's been through hell and back again. Now he's gonna need a lot of things from us, but your guilt ain't one of 'em."

"Look at him, Buck. Look at his face, his hands. For God's sake, they pulled his fucking toenails! Are you telling me you can see him lying there and not know that we let him down?"

"Have you looked at Ezra lately? Or Nate? Josiah? J.D.? Hell, have you taken a look in a mirror? I don't think any of us have slept more 'n a couple hours the last three nights, and I can't remember the last meal I ate sittin' down. J.D.'s runnin' on caffeine and fumes."

Chris rubbed his eyes. His head was throbbing and his stomach felt like he'd been drinking battery acid. "What's your point?"

"My _point_ is that not one of us gave less than 150 percent in tracking Vin down. Do I wish we'd found him sooner? Hell, yeah! But we done the best we could, Chris. Every one of us. We didn't put him in that bed--it was those bastards lyin' on slabs in the morgue. And I'll be damned if I let you--or any one of us--wallow in guilt."

Not for the first time Chris wondered what he'd done to deserve a friend as loyal and tolerant of his bullshit as Buck Wilmington. He sighed. "My head hears what you're saying, but I--" Chris trailed off. Vin's eyes were open and he was blinking blearily at them. 

Stepping around Buck, Chris leaned over the bed. "Hey. Glad you decided to join us."

Vin licked his lips and a line appeared between his brows. "Water?"

"Got it right here, Pard." Buck scooped up the cup and positioned the straw.

Two anemic sips and Vin turned his head.

"Easy," Chris said when his friend's breath caught and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Best not to move around much--remember?"

Slowly Vin's breathing evened out and he cracked open his eyes. "Hospital?"

"That's right." It wasn't easy, but Chris kept his tone patient. Each time Vin awakened they'd gotten this far only to have him drift off again. At least this time he wasn't puking.

With narrowed eyes, Vin examined his splinted fingers, then tried to bring his good hand up to his face. He didn't get far before sweat beaded his forehead and he gave up with a pained grunt.

"I warned you, didn't I? Stubborn fool." Despite his gruff words, Chris ran the damp washcloth over Vin's forehead and neck. 

Vin's eyelids fluttered, but he forced them open. "What happened?"

When Buck opened his mouth to answer, Chris cut him off. "Why don't you tell us what you remember."

A long silence, and Chris feared Vin would sink back into sleep. Somehow his friend tenaciously hung on to consciousness. 

"I . . . I'm not . . . We took down Campanelli."

"We sure did," Buck replied. "Nailed his ass to the wall."

Chris held his breath, watching the subtle interplay of emotions crossing Vin's face. When his friend finally spoke, his voice was uncertain.

"Did I . . . I got hurt during the bust?"

Damn.

Chris tried to hold on to his poker face, but he could feel the weight of Buck's gaze. "Not exactly. What's the last thing you recall?"

Vin tightened his grip on the sheet as he studied their faces. "Bein' up in the rafters with Sean, takin' out Campanelli's goons." He looked from Chris to Buck and back again. "Somethin' tells me that's the wrong answer."

"You've got a few gaps," Chris said, trying to sound unconcerned. Three days. It might as well be three weeks. "Doc said it was to be expected."

"If I didn't get hurt in the bust, then what happened to me?"

Shit, shit, shit. He should've known Vin wouldn't let him get away with dodging the issue. Chris really didn't want to get into the whole abduction mess until Vin was a little stronger.

"You need to get some more rest, and then--"

Shrugging off Chris's hand, Vin struggled to sit up. "Screw that! I don't need . . . you coddlin' me. I want to know . . . why I'm--" His face abruptly went white and he slumped over with a muffled cry of pain.

Chris curled a supportive arm around his friend's chest as he dry heaved, while Buck shuffled his feet, fisted his hands, and growled. Just when Chris was ready to hit the call button, Vin's stomach settled enough that he could ease him back onto his pillow.

"Need to know," Vin slurred, fighting to grip Chris's hand even as his eyes slid shut. "Chrisss . . ."

"Soon, I promise." Chris brushed the sweaty curls from Vin's face. "Sleep for now. I've got your back."

When he was certain Vin was out, he slipped his hand from the lax fingers. "What?" he snapped at Buck, who was watching him, his face blank.

" _A few gaps?_ "

"You saw him, Buck. Do you really think he could've handled the truth?"

"Travis can't keep Spencer away for long. He wants answers, Chris, just like we would."

"Answers Vin doesn't have." Chris turned to look at his friend's pale, battered face. "He doesn't even remember how he got here. How the hell is he gonna help us find Donovan?"

A warm hand on his shoulder was Buck's only response. And really, Chris thought, there was nothing more to be said.


	3. Chapter 3

The last thing Chris expected as he stepped into his office was to find J.D. asleep on his couch. The kid was out cold, oblivious to the glare of the overhead light, his face pressed to the cushions and one hand trailing onto the floor. 

Chris stood frozen for a moment before walking over to drape his jacket on the back of his chair. He shuffled through the papers on the blotter, listened to a lengthy voice mail message from Travis, and then went in search of explanations.

Josiah was just emerging from the break room, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. "Hey, boss. How's Vin?"

"Out more than in." He raised his eyebrows when the mug was placed into his hands.

"You look like you need it more than I do," Josiah said. "To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you're here at all."

"The doc wanted to get a follow-up CT scan before they move him out of the ICU. He won't be settled into his new room for a couple of hours. Buck's got things covered." He leaned a hip on Josiah's desk as the big man sank into his chair. "What the hell is J.D. doing asleep in my office?"

"Ezra, Nathan, and I finally got him to crash around two. Took all three of us to pry him off his computer. He's taking this thing with Vin real hard."

"Nathan and Ezra go home?"

Josiah nodded. "Said they'd be back by seven." He narrowed his eyes. "Have you gotten any rest at all?"

Chris took a long drink, grateful that Josiah's coffee was only slightly weaker than Vin's industrial-strength brew. "I caught a couple hours at the hospital. Buck let me shower and change clothes at the loft. What have we got so far?"

"More questions than answers, I'm afraid." Rubbing the nape of his neck, Josiah tipped back in his chair. "Forensics is still processing trace evidence from the warehouse. But so far, the only fingerprints found have belonged to the men in the morgue."

"Do we have I.D.?"

Josiah picked up three folders and slid them across the desk. "Rob Huxley, Ricky Hernandez, and Al "Knuckles" Westin. All three have rap sheets as long as my arm--mostly for assault and battery. They're free agents, professional muscle for hire."

"In other words, not traceable to anyone." Chris set aside his coffee and paged through each folder. His stomach knotted as he gazed at the impassive face in each mug shot and tried not to imagine what Vin had suffered at their hands.

"Not so far. Ezra's got a few street contacts putting their ears to the ground."

"J.D. find anything interesting?"

"He's gone over our current case files forward and backward. But let's face it, Chris, the timing makes it highly unlikely that Campanelli or any of his people were behind this. He just didn't have enough time to pull it off."

Sighing, Chris tossed the folders onto the desk. "Yeah."

"J.D.'s already started digging into closed cases. And he's cross-checking with the list of recent parolees. If pure stubborn determination counts for anything, we'll be making progress soon."

"I hope you're right."

Josiah was quiet for a long moment. "Buck says Vin doesn't remember any of it."

"He thought he was injured in the bust. He's been too out of it to ask many questions up till now." Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his burning eyes shut. "What am I supposed to tell him, Josiah? You know how quick he is to take the weight of the world on his shoulders. How can I add this to the pile?"

"I don't see as how you have much choice." Leaning forward, Josiah braced his elbows on his knees. "We both know Vin well enough to realize he won't settle for less than the whole truth about his abduction."

"And once he hears Donovan's still missing, he'll push himself hard to remember."

"What does the doctor say?"

"That it's not uncommon for people who've suffered a severe head injury to experience some memory loss, and that there's no way to tell if it will be permanent."

"Chris . . ." Josiah dropped his gaze to his clasped hands, studying them for a long moment before meeting his eyes. "I think we need to be aware of the fact that in Vin's case there may be additional factors affecting his memory."

His jaw felt as if it might snap from the tension. "You're saying that subconsciously he might not want to remember."

"I'm saying our wondrously complex minds are capable of shielding us from severe trauma. Now Vin's amnesia may be purely physical. Or, it could be a defense mechanism protecting him from memories he's not ready to confront."

Like being tied to a chair and methodically tortured? How was Vin ever supposed to deal with that?

Something must have shown on his face--Josiah's brow furrowed and his gaze grew more piercing. "Anything you want to share?"

Chris was silent, struggling with his thoughts for a long moment before speaking. "Part of me hopes he won't ever have to."

He wasn't sure if he'd expected reassurance or condemnation. When Josiah offered neither, he gritted, "Vin has an eidetic memory."

Josiah's jaw dropped. " _Photographic_? Vin? I never--"

"That's how he wants it. The only reason I know is because it's in his file."

"Makes sense when you think about it. Considering the way he was able to get along so well despite the dyslexia."

"Extraordinarily detailed and vivid recall of images," Chris said bitterly. "Do you get where I'm headed with this?"

He could see the moment Josiah made the connection. "Dear Lord."

"I want to find Sean Donovan as much as anyone. I know Vin needs to remember those three days. But I wish he didn't have to."

The elevator doors rumbled open and Ezra and Nathan's gentle bickering drifted down the hallway. A moment later J.D. appeared looking rumpled and only semiconscious. Chris fielded questions about Vin and steered everyone back to business. 

Eventually he escaped to the solitude of his office, freed from the weight of Josiah's gaze. But though his eyes focused on paperwork and his ears listened for Buck's call, his mind remained solidly on Vin.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two things were obvious the minute Chris walked into the room: Vin was doing much better. And he was seriously pissed off.

Buck popped up from the chair next to the bed, practically tripping over his own feet in his eagerness. "Hey, there. We been waitin' on you, Pard." His back to Vin, he grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"'Bout time you decided to show up." Vin glared at him, his barely there voice and bloodshot eyes belying the strength of his anger. "Buck wouldn't tell me a damn thing until you got your sorry ass in here."

"Good morning to you, too."

Vin flushed at Chris's mild tone but didn't back down. "I know y'all mean well, but I can't stand bein' treated like a kid. I need to know what happened to me."

Chris motioned Buck to the chair. Lowering the side rail, he sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Vin. The mattress was slightly elevated and they'd propped his injured hand on a pillow. This close he could see fine lines of pain around Vin's eyes and mouth.

"You remember the Campanelli bust." He didn't make it a question; they'd already covered this ground.

"I remember being on the catwalk with Sean, holding off Campanelli's people. Ezra did a helluva job disarming the big guy before he could call for reinforcements."

"And after that?"

Vin didn't respond right away. He looked from Chris to Buck and back again as if hoping to read the answer in their faces. "I . . . Everything after that's a blank. At first I thought maybe I took a spill but . . ." He gazed down at his splinted hand and gauze-wrapped wrists, tongued his split lip, and Chris saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. "Seems more like I went ten rounds with King Kong."

Buck made a strangled sound, ducking his head and curling his hands into fists. 

Vin looked at Chris. "You'd best level with me 'cause Bucklin's got a lousy poker face," he said calmly, but sweat beaded his upper lip.

"I can only tell you what we know, which isn't much."

Vin nodded for him to continue.

"The night of the bust we celebrated with Team 5 at the Saloon. You and Donovan left the party about ten o'clock--you gave him a ride. When you didn't show up for work the next morning, we checked your apartment. It was pretty obvious you'd never made it home. We put out an APB and your jeep turned up in a parking lot on the northeast side of town, wiped clean. No prints. No trace evidence. Nothing."

Vin gingerly rubbed his forehead, avoiding the bandage at his temple. "So how did you find me?"

"We got lucky. One of Ezra's informants found someone who saw you being pulled from your jeep and bundled into a blue panel van. He even got a partial plate. We were able to narrow it down to three vehicles, one of which had been stolen a few days earlier. Eventually a uniformed cop spotted it and tailed it to the abandoned warehouse where they were holding you."

Vin frowned. "Eventually?"

Inwardly Chris winced. "The bust was on the fifth, Vin. Today's the tenth. You were missing for three days."

"Three days? I was . . ." he trailed off, obviously struggling to process everything he'd been told.

Chris waited, knowing that pain and fatigue were affecting Vin more than he cared to admit. So far he'd missed the biggest piece of the puzzle, but he wouldn't be sidetracked for long. Then he went completely still, and Chris saw the realization register on his face.

"Wait a minute. You said Sean and me left the Saloon together. Is he okay?" When Chris hesitated, trying to choose his words with care, Vin sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh god. He's dead, isn't he?"

"No!" Buck blurted, then looked at Chris. "Well . . . not so far as we know."

"Yer talkin' in circles." Vin pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. "What are you tryin' to say?"

"You were both abducted," Chris said calmly, not liking Vin's pallor. "But we only found you."

"Well, that doesn't make a damn bit of sense. Why wouldn't he be with me? Hell, why did they want us in the first place?"

"We don't know."

"Don't know? That's not good enough. Chris, we've got to find him, what if he's still--"

"Calm down, Vin, you're going to--"

"Fuck that! We've got to . . . got to find him, got to figure out who . . ." With a strangled gasp, his faced twisted and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Of course, Dr. Lorenzo chose that precise moment to make an appearance.

"Gentlemen." He tucked the chart under his arm and pressed his fingers to Vin's wrist. "Can you think of any reason why I shouldn't send you two on a guided tour of the parking lot?"

With a toothy smile, Buck slowly stood. "Well hell, son, you could try."

"Buck." Chris shot him a warning glare before turning to the doctor. "Is he all right?"

"Depends on your definition I suppose." Lorenzo pulled out a penlight and checked Vin's pupils. "He's doing remarkably well for a man who's had the shit beat out of him. On the other hand, a few more visits from you two might accomplish what the jackasses that assaulted him didn't."

"Now wait just a damn minute--"

Chris cut Buck off with a flick of his hand. "Doctor, with all due respect, you don't know what--"

"Would you stop talkin' over me like I'm brain dead or stupid? If I didn't already have a bastard of a headache, listenin' to y'all would surely do the trick."

Buck snorted, Chris smirked, and Lorenzo looked intrigued.

Glaring at the doctor, Vin continued. "Chris is right, you've got no call to be blamin' him and Buck. I'm the one forced 'em into coming clean about what happened to me. And you," he said to Chris and Buck, "cut him some slack. I reckon he's just tryin' to do what's best for me."

Lorenzo bowed his head. "I have a reputation around here for being less than tactful." He cocked an eyebrow at Chris and Buck. "Shocking, I'm sure."

"Not from my end," Buck muttered.

" _But_ I stand by my intent. As fond as I am of a good drama, I'd rather not see one played out in my patient's hospital room. You're never going to get past wishing for the nearest guillotine, Mr. Tanner, unless you chill out." He looked pointedly at Chris and Buck. "And I'm counting on your friends to see that you do."

"I appreciate your concerns, Doc. But I won't let anything keep me from doin' my job. Right now there's a good man in a world of trouble, and I aim to help find him any way I can. Hell, I don't see how it makes a bit of difference. Seems I'm saddled with this headache no matter what I do."

"Vin ain't exactly the master of tact either," Buck confided with a smug grin. 

"From what I've heard, that's a Team 7 prerequisite." Lorenzo looked at Vin through narrowed eyes. "All right, Mr. Tanner, here's what we'll do. Once I get this impulse to drug you senseless under control, I'm going to ask the nurse to give you something to knock back the headache and help you rest. You can resume this discussion after you've had a few hours of uninterrupted--" he looked pointedly at Buck and Chris, "--sleep. Deal?"

"Deal." Chris returned Vin's glower and his friend eventually slumped back into the pillows, muttering about pushy doctors and mother-henning cowboys.

Lorenzo eyed them all with what Chris felt was entirely too much amusement. "I'll be by later this evening. If you're not looking better I may just reconsider that drugging option."

Once Lorenzo had left, a heavy silence filled the room. As Chris watched, pain, guilt, and anger vied for control of Vin's expressive features. "Are you all right?"

"Guess I know now why you didn't want to tell me."

While Chris regarded Vin silently, Buck jumped in with both feet. "Now you listen up, Pard. Every last one of us, including the guys from Team 5, have got our heads together on this. Something's bound to turn. . ."

Vin's look of weary disbelief silenced him midstream. "You can talk all you like, but it don't change the fact that me rememberin' what happened is the best way to find Sean."

"Maybe so," Chris said, "but Lorenzo's right--pushing yourself isn't going to make it happen. Right now you need to rest. Let us watch your back."

Blinking hard, Vin turned to stare out the window. "What about Sean? Who's watchin' his back?"

"We all are, best way we know how--by pulling out all the stops to find him. You're not in this alone, Vin."

"I hear what you're sayin', but it don't feel that way. And just in case you hadn't thought of it, I reckon we got more to worry about than finding Sean."

"Such as?" Chris asked, but he knew where Vin was headed.

"What did they want from us? And maybe more important," Vin raised haunted eyes to Chris's face, "did we give it to 'em?"


	4. Chapter 4

"You don't have to stay here, you know."

Ezra quirked an eyebrow, his hands never faltering as they shuffled the cards. "Why, Mr. Tanner, have you grown tired of my company already?"

After searching in vain for a comfortable position, Vin gave up with a sigh. His eyes felt gritty, and concentrating on anything, especially a card game, required tremendous effort. His ribs, his fingers--God, even his feet, and why the hell was that?--ached constantly, and the relentless pounding in his skull left him by turns dizzy and nauseous.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Ez, I'm not exactly the best company right now."

"I assure you, I've noticed." The warmth and genuine affection in Ezra's eyes took the sting from his words. "No matter. I'm not here to be entertained."

"You're here 'cause you pulled the afternoon shift. Knowin' Chris, I don't expect you had much choice." He hated that his broken, barely there voice made him sound like a cranky toddler.

"Mr. Larabee is indeed a formidable force to be reckoned with." Still manipulating the cards, Ezra gazed at him from beneath his lashes. "On the other hand, I'm hardly a man to follow a directive with which I disagree." When Vin stared at him blankly, he smiled.  
"I wanted to be here. I consider it a privilege to support you in your hour of need."

He'd been alone for so long, the reality of this--of family and belonging--still took him by surprise. Vin felt his face heat and ducked his head. "'Preciate it."

"I sense that you've tired of our game. Why don't you get some sleep?"

It sounded so easy when Ezra said it--just close his eyes and drift away. Never mind that however he lay caused some part of his battered body to screech in agony, that just breathing seemed to irritate his sore throat, that his stomach was constantly on the verge of rebelling . . . That he couldn't stop thinking of Sean--dying, praying for someone--for Vin--to come.

"Yeah." Curling onto his side, he shut his burning eyes against Ezra's kindness, wishing he could shut out the pain as easily. Instead, he concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths, listening for the clicking of plastic-coated cards to resume.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Vin?"

Startled by Ezra's use of his first name, Vin cracked open an eye. "Nah. I'm fine."

"Your appearance would indicate otherwise. You seem to be enduring more than a little discomfort."

Vin rolled onto his back, careful to leave his hand propped on its pillow. "Painkiller wore off a while ago. Reckon the nurse'll be along soon."

Ezra tucked the cards into his jacket as he stood. "Why didn't you say something earlier? I'll track one down post haste."

"Not a good plan, Pard. You'll just wind up gettin' the lecture."

"What lecture?"

"'Bout how they gotta go real easy on the drugs they give me. 'Cause of the concussion and . . . you know . . ." He looked away, swallowing against a wave of queasiness. "The shit those bastards shot me up with."

From the corner of his eye he saw Ezra fold into his chair, looking gut punched. "I see."

"It's all right. Stuff just makes me want to puke anyway."

"It's not all right. It's not even remotely all right."

Vin looked up, drawn by the tremor in Ezra's voice. He was amazed to see fire in those green eyes. For him. "There's worse, Ezra."

"I beg to differ. The evidence of the brutality you've suffered is etched into your flesh. What could possibly be worse?"

"Could be dead." His throat made a dry click as he swallowed. "Or still out there."

He really hadn't intended to go there. Vin braced himself for the platitudes he was sure would follow: "We're going to find Sean;" "He'll be all right;" and of course, "None of this is your fault."

Contrary as always, Ezra chose none of the above. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile that was somehow both compassionate and self-deprecating. "You're a good man. I don't believe I know another who could face adversity with such grace and strength of character." He chuffed softly. "Certainly not me."

Vin choked out a laugh around the lump in his throat. "No strength of character here. Just hangin' on by my fingernails."

"We each see with different eyes," Ezra replied cryptically. "No matter. You must realize that we are moving heaven and earth to locate Mr. Donovan. But in the meantime, my duty lies here with you. So if you have no objections, I believe I shall pay a visit to the nurses' station--and perhaps the lounge for a can of ginger ale?"

Leave it to Ezra to remember the one thing that always settled his stomach. Unwilling to trust his voice, Vin nodded.

Ezra touched two fingers to the brim of an imaginary hat. "I shall return shortly."

Vin closed his eyes, consciously slowing his breathing as he attempted to relax tense, throbbing muscles. Gradually he drifted into the gray area between sleeping and waking, still aware of his hurts but removed from them. With a distant corner of his brain, he registered the whoosh of an opening door and the soft scuffle of footsteps, but acknowledging them seemed far too much trouble, and he sank deeper.

"Tanner. Wake up."

The voice, so unexpected, pulled him out of sleep with the brutal efficiency of a drowning man yanked from the water. He popped open his eyes, reflexively reaching for his nonexistent weapon and sucking in a sharp breath when his ribs protested. Fisting the blanket and panting for air, he stared into Jim Spencer's demanding brown eyes.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," Spencer said, but the apology sounded mechanical, and his gaze kept shifting from Vin to the paper sack he held in one hand.

"'S okay. Wasn't really sleeping." Vin scrubbed at his eyes, trying to order his sluggish thoughts.

Spencer shuffled his feet and hunched his shoulders. "So . . . how are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Picking at the frayed edge of his blanket, Vin avoided the intensity of Spencer's gaze. 

"Good. That's . . . that's real good to hear."

"Look, Jim . . . about Sean . . . I--"

Spencer grasped the side rail, leaning in close. "I need you to tell me everything you know, Vin. So far we've gotten nowhere, and time is running out."

He flinched at the sharp tone so different from Spencer's normally mellow bass. "I don't . . . Jim, I can't remember, it's all just . . . it's all a blank."

"Then you've got to try harder. His life is in your hands, kid. He's counting on you--we all are."

Spencer's words felt like physical blows, pummeling the wound that had been festering inside Vin since he'd learned of his abduction. He reacted with an instinct bred from years of surviving alone on the streets: when attacked, fight back.

"You've got to be kiddin' me. Try harder? Do you really think if I had it in my power to remember I wouldn't have done it before now?"

"I think Larabee's so hell-bent on protecting you he can't see what's needed in this investigation. I think Sean's dying out there and we're sitting around doing nothing." Face reddened, Spencer thrust his hand into the sack and pulled out something encased in an evidence bag. "We found this in a dumpster near the warehouse. Look familiar?" 

Vin stared at the bundle of tattered cloth. He wasn't aware that his breathing sped up. He didn't feel the cold sweat or the tremors racking his body or hear the ringing in his ears. Everything, all his senses, latched onto the large, rust-colored stains obscuring the New York Yankees logo.

Sean's shirt. Sean . . .

_Screams echo through the empty hallway. He longs to clamp his hands over his ears, to block them out. Instead, he fights the restraints until warmth trickles down his wrists. "Stop it, you bastard! Sean! Talk to me, Sean!"_

_"Cooperate and you both go free."_

_"Fuck you!"_

_Piercing agony in his ribs. He gasps and retches, struggling for air._

_"Answer the question." Cold, dead gray eyes._

_"This ain't gonna work, you son of a bitch; I'm not tellin' you jack shit."_

_A backhanded slap, and fire bursts across his cheekbone. "Give me time. You'll be begging to tell me whatever I want to hear." He nods to the linebacker in the doorway. "Keep going. Mr. Tanner's feeling stubborn."_

_And Sean starts screaming . . ._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Chris squeezed through the elevator doors before they'd finished opening and headed down the hallway. A flash of color as he passed the visitor's lounge had him retracing his steps.

"Ezra?"

His teammate straightened from where he was bent over a vending machine. "Mr. Larabee. I wasn't expecting you until five. Has there been a development on the case?"

"Where's Vin?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "In his room, of course. He's not exactly mobile right now."

"Then why the hell aren't you with him?" Chris started walking, not really interested in the answer.

For all his talk of refusing to exert himself, Ezra could move fast when motivated. He was suddenly at Chris's side, keeping pace. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing the source of your obvious agitation." His genial drawl didn't mask the anger vibrating just beneath.

Chris glared sideways. "You're supposed to be sticking with him, not roaming the halls or lounging in the waiting room."

"For your information, I was not--"

"Save it, Ezra. Travis called to give me a heads up. Jim Spencer is--" Pushing open Vin's door, he stopped, speechless.

Spencer stood beside Vin's bed, a bloody tee shirt clutched in his hand and a mixture of guilt and dismay on his face. And Vin . . .

Chris crossed the room in three quick strides, seizing Spencer by the lapels and slamming him against the wall. "You son of a bitch! What did you say to him?"

Spencer struggled weakly. "Nothing! I just . . . I . . . I wanted to . . ."

"I warned you not to go around me."

"I'm sorry, Chris. You know I never meant to . . . I swear I didn't think he'd . . ."

With a final shake, Chris shoved him toward Ezra. "Get him the hell out of here."

White-lipped with anger, Ezra nodded. "My pleasure." He set something on the bedside table and hustled Spencer, unresisting, from the room.

"And get a nurse!" Chris turned back to his friend, his chest tight. 

Vin's wide blue eyes were unfocused, his face shiny with sweat. When Chris leaned over the side rail to clasp his hand, he realized his friend was shivering. Drawing in a deep breath, Chris put aside his anger. "Vin. Talk to me, Cowboy."

Vin didn't answer, or even look at him, but his fingers clamped tightly around Chris's. Leaning closer, Chris pitched his voice low and soothing. "You're in the hospital, remember? You're safe; it's all over. Come on back to me now, okay?"

As he continued to speak, Vin gradually stopped trembling. He blinked, and Chris saw awareness seep back into his gaze. "Chris?"

"Yeah." 

"I . . . what . . . ?"

"Here." He poured Vin a cup of water.

When his friend screwed up his face, Chris looked around, noticing a can of ginger ale sitting on the table. "Looks like you've got the nurses in your pocket, as usual," he murmured, popping the top and adding a straw.

To his relief, Vin managed not only a few swallows but also a weak grin. "Ezra."

Recalling his teammate's proximity to the vending machine and his own harsh rebuke, Chris inwardly winced. He had a few fences to mend, but that would have to wait. "You with me now?"

Vin licked his lips. "Jim Spencer was here."

"I know. I'm the one booted his ass to the curb."

"He had Sean's shirt."

At that moment Chris could cheerfully have shot Jim Spencer. "I heard."

"Well, when were you plannin' on telling me?" The flash of fire in Vin's eyes calmed the churning in Chris's gut.

"Take it easy; I just found out. Higgins and Crandall were canvassing the area around the warehouse. They found it in a garbage bin a block over. Travis gave me the heads up, but Spencer had already left the building." Chris clenched his jaw. "He was _not_ authorized to do what he just did."

"He's only tryin' to take care of his own."

Before Chris could dispute Vin's generosity, Ezra appeared with Lynn, Vin's nurse, in tow.

Vin took one look and scowled. "Aw, hell."

Unperturbed, Lynn set a stainless steel tray on the bed table and grinned at him. "Nice to see you too. Sounds as if you've had an exciting afternoon."

"I'm fine, ma'am," Vin said. "Really." But he allowed her to check pulse, blood pressure, and temperature with a minimum of fuss.

"He gonna live?" Chris asked. He liked Lynn--she had a way of putting Vin firmly in his place, but with a gentleness that eased his fear of losing control.

"Heart rate's a little fast, pressure's up a bit, but that's to be expected. How's the pain?" she asked Vin.

"Not bad."

"Not good either," Ezra murmured, drawing Vin's glare.

"You strong silent types are all alike." Lynn brushed a hand over Vin's shoulder, coaxing a grudging smile. "Here's a tip." She picked a hypodermic off the tray and injected it into his I.V. "Take the good drugs while you can. The more comfortable you are, the faster you'll heal."

Vin sighed as the warm current flooded his body, nudging back the discomfort. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'll be back to check on you in a bit. Get some rest." Lynn looked pointedly at Chris and Ezra, who tipped their heads. Message received.

"I remembered somethin', Chris," Vin said. His eyes were already heavy lidded, his words slightly slurred. "It was like I was there, in the warehouse. It was so real."

"Sounds like a flashback."

Vin swallowed hard. "They were hurtin' him. Hurtin' Sean to make me talk."

"Who was? Can you describe them?"

"Big guy--big as Josiah. Dark hair and eyes. Snake tattoo down his arm. Other was Hispanic. Young. Wore a Harley Davidson jacket."

"Al Westin and Ricky Hernandez," Chris muttered.

"He was screamin', Chris. But I . . . I wouldn't talk. I don't even remember what they wanted, but I wouldn't give it to 'em."

"You did the right thing. I'm sure Mr. Donovan understood."

Chris looked at Ezra, surprised by the strength of emotion in his voice.

"I tried to make 'em stop." Vin was on the cusp of sleep, defenses lowered and vulnerable in a way Chris had rarely seen. "Why didn't they hurt me? I wanted 'em to hurt me."

Chris watched his eyes slide shut and his breathing even out. Beside him Ezra blew out a long breath.

"They did, my friend. They did."


	5. Chapter 5

"Mr. Larabee. A word?"

Chris frowned, his fingertips still brushing the surface of Vin's door. Lorenzo, he noted with a mixture of disbelief and admiration, was wearing Converse high tops on his feet and a Dead Can Dance tee shirt under his white coat. "Is there a problem?"

The doctor looked pointedly at Vin's half-open door and inclined his head toward the lounge. "Buy you a cup of coffee?"

Setting his duffel bag on the floor just inside the room, Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and trailed him down the hallway.

"Regular or decaf?" Lorenzo asked as he plugged change into the machine.

"Regular."

Chris sat on the edge of a couch. He accepted the paper cup from Lorenzo, eyeing him warily as he sank into a nearby chair. "What about you?" He took a sip, gesturing to Lorenzo's empty hands.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't drink that crap if you paid me."

"Why exactly did you want to speak with me?"

Once again Lorenzo turned as abruptly serious as if he'd flicked a switch. "Your friend had a rough night last night." He held up a hand as Chris lunged to his feet. "Take it easy. Physically he's still doing well."

"What's that supposed to mean? What happened?" Chris tossed the half-empty cup into the garbage can and pinned Lorenzo with a glare.

"According to his nurse, he had trouble sleeping. Nightmares--some real screamers. She tried to give him a sedative but he refused. Strenuously."

Chris leaned over, propping his hands on the arms of Lorenzo's chair until he was eye to eye with the doctor. "Why the hell didn't anyone call me?" He pitched his voice low. Deadly.

Narrowing his eyes, Lorenzo thrust his own face forward. "He wouldn't let them."

 _Son of a bitch, Vin. Is there a more irritating, pigheaded jackass on the planet?_ Chris sighed and eased back onto the couch.

"I'm telling you now for a couple of reasons," Lorenzo continued. "First, he's going to be dragging his ass today, especially after the car ride home. You need to see that he gets some real, uninterrupted sleep or his recovery's going to take a giant step backward."

"No problem."

"Excuse my skepticism. We are talking about Mr. Tanner--remember?"

Chris flashed him a grin. "I can be very . . . persuasive."

"Yeah. I've noticed," Lorenzo said with a wince. "Anyway, I'm going to include a 'scrip for a mild sleeping pill with his meds."

"I can tell you right now he won't want to take them."

Lorenzo quirked an eyebrow. "Persuade him."

"Is that all?" Chris stood up, arms folded.

"I just want to be sure we're on the same page about this," Lorenzo replied, following suit. "You're a cop. You've got to realize what those nightmares mean in light of all your friend has been through."

His jaw felt like it could snap. "Yeah."

"Then you also know Post Traumatic Stress is nothing to fool around with. He's going to need therapy, Chris, and not just for his hand."

"I'll do what I can. But that may be beyond even my powers of persuasion."

Huffing, Lorenzo shook his head. "I can imagine. You should've heard his reaction this morning when I suggested he might like to talk to one of our on-staff shrinks before you took him home." When Chris just looked at him, he added, "Well, I phrased it with a lot more finesse."

"Look, Doc, Vin's a big boy. No one can make him do something if he digs in his feet. But I can tell you that he's got six teammates watching his back. We'll do what we can."

"Fair enough. I'm afraid he's going to be coping with the concussion for a while. If the headaches get worse, or you notice any disorientation or slurred speech, get him in here immediately. Otherwise, bring him back in a week."

"Will do. And thanks for everything. You've, ah, given me a whole new view of the medical profession." Chris offered his hand.

Lorenzo shook it and they started walking back to Vin's room. "The pleasure's all mine. After all, thanks to you I'm a regular celebrity around here."

"How's that?"

Lorenzo flashed him an impudent grin. "I called out the infamous Chris Larabee--and lived to tell the tale."

"Don't get cocky. The day's not over."

They parted ways at Vin's room, Lorenzo heading off to finish his rounds and Chris stepping quietly inside. His back to the doorway, Vin was muttering a mixture of his favorite curse words in English and Spanish.

"I got to admit, you turn swearing into an art form." 

Chris walked around the end of the bed, seeing that Vin was struggling to work his left arm into a flannel shirt--pretty much impossible given his splinted fingers. Perspiration trickled down the sides of his face and his uninjured hand was shaking so badly he kept missing the sleeve.

"Hey. Whoa." He tugged the shirt from Vin's clumsy fingers, getting a glare that could have peeled paint. "They have nurses to help with stuff like this, you know."

"Don't need no damn nurse to dress me." Vin snatched it back, flushing.

That inherent independence might've been funny if he hadn't looked so terrible. The bruises on his face and torso stood out in sharp relief, and exhaustion and pain were written in the lines around his eyes and mouth. 

"Yeah. I can see that."

Vin curled his fingers into a white-knuckled grip and his eyes flashed fire. "I was takin' care of myself while you were still beggin' for the keys to Daddy's car. I don't _need_ anyone's help."

Chris had no doubts it was true. Vin's fierce independence was one of the first things to impress him back in the early days when his friend was cautiously finding his place on the team. Only after reviewing his file did Chris understand that independence had come at a high price--orphaned at five, a string of foster homes, and finally, a runaway surviving on the streets.

He sat down beside Vin, their shoulders brushing. "Okay, so you don't need help. Did you ever stop to think that maybe we need to be doing the helping?"

"What?"

"Three days and nights we searched for you. We barely ate or slept--hell, Buck stopped looking at women!" 

Vin snorted softly. "Sounds like the end of the world as we know it."

Chris looked him squarely in the eye. "For us it was. We never gave up hope, but . . . it started to feel as if you'd disappeared into thin air. And then, when we did find you . . . well, you looked more dead than alive, Pard. 

"So you best be prepared to cut the boys and me some slack, 'cause you're going to get our help whether or not you need it. We're just damn glad you're around to fuss over."

Vin turned his face away, his throat working. "Thing about countin' on yourself . . . You don't get let down."

"Yeah. Gets damn lonely though."

For a long moment Vin was quiet, and Chris let him be. Finally, he looked at Chris with the hint of a smile. "So how are you gonna help me get this damn shirt on?"

"I'm not." Chris unzipped the duffel he'd brought and pulled out a flannel shirt. "We use this one."

"Uh . . . I don't know how to break this to you, Cowboy, but . . . I've never seen that shirt before in my life."

"I know. Rain bought it, and a few others, at the mall yesterday."

"That was real nice of her, but . . . Why?"

"She made a few special modifications." Chris picked up the left sleeve, and peeled it open down the seam. "Velcro."

Blinking, Vin fingered the soft flannel. "She did that for . . . She's such a busy lady, I can't believe she . . ."

"Said she's dealt with enough patients in casts to know what a pain in the ass they are--the casts, not the patients. Hold out your arm." Chris fastened the Velcro strip and helped Vin slip his good arm into the other sleeve. He pulled the front flaps together and paused, quirking an eyebrow.

"Might as well go ahead," Vin said, not quite able to meet his eyes. "If I do it we'll be here all day."

As he popped each button through its hole, Chris glanced up at his friend. Vin's gaze was fixed on the window, but Chris could tell he wasn't really seeing the bright sunshine and clear blue sky.

"Heard you had a rough night." He kept his gaze on his hands when he felt Vin stiffen.

"Never had much luck sleepin' in hospitals."

Pressing the matter, when Vin was so obviously on edge, seemed counterproductive. "Well, the guest room's all made up. And I promise not to come in and check your blood pressure in the middle of the night." The genuine grin he got in response told him he'd made the right decision.

"One problem," Vin said when Chris had finished buttoning him up.

"What's that?"

Vin held up his gauze-swathed feet. "There's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to wear my boots."

"Yeah, I figured." Chris rummaged through the duffel and pulled out a pair of soft moccasins. 

"Yer a regular boy scout today, aren't ya?"

"Just making sure all the bases are covered. Aren't you the one always saying that's why they pay me the big bucks?" Chris gently slipped them onto his feet. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Then let me find a wheelchair and we'll bust you out of here."

"Chris?"

Almost to the door, the emotion in Vin's voice pulled him back. "Yeah?"

Vin picked at the Velcroed sleeve, glancing up at him from beneath his lashes. "Guess maybe there's somethin' to be said for lettin' folks give you a hand."

Chris smiled. "You're welcome."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At the sound of Buck's footsteps, Chris glanced up from his laptop. "How is he?"

"Dead to the world."

He couldn't block the instinctive flinch; the words hit a raw spot he hadn't realized existed. 

Buck froze and his face crumpled. "Sorry. Sometimes I got a piss-poor way with words.

"It's okay. Coffee's fresh and there's cream in the fridge."

Buck rummaged through the cupboard for his favorite mug. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

Chris shifted his gaze from the screen just long enough to deliver a glare, his fingers never faltering on the keyboard.

Sitting down at the table, Buck raised both hands. "I know, I know. Mind my own damn business." He took a sip of coffee, muttering into the mug, "Even if you are settin' yourself up for an ulcer."

"Nathan has a big mouth."

"Nathan never said a word. It don't take a medical professional to see you're lettin' all this eat a hole in your gut. Might as well buy stock in antacids."

"I've got responsibilities, Buck. To Travis, to Vin--to the team."

"And you ain't gonna be worth shit to any of us if you don't start takin' care of yourself. What are you workin' on anyway?"

"Paperwork for Travis." Chris kept typing.

Buck leaned in close. " _What_ paperwork?"

Damn it, he'd made six mistakes in the last paragraph. Chris dropped his hands to his lap and sighed. "If you must know, a formal complaint against Jim Spencer."

"Aw, hell, Chris--"

"You weren't there, Buck! Vin was practically catatonic thanks to that pigheaded bastard."

"That pigheaded bastard has pulled our asses out of the fire a time or two." Buck scrubbed his hands over his face and for the first time Chris noticed the circles under his friend's eyes. "Look, Chris . . . I'm not defendin' what Jim did. It was a boneheaded move, and if I'd been there I'd probably have beat the crap outta him myself."

"I'm sensing a 'but' in there somewhere."

"Supposin' that--God forbid--it was Vin still out there. That you were holdin' Vin's bloody shirt in your hand. Try on Jim's shoes, Chris, and tell me you can still file that complaint."

All these years and Buck was still being his conscience at the most inconvenient times. Blowing out a long breath, Chris closed the file and powered down the computer. "I thought you were here to help take care of Vin," he growled, reaching for his coffee.

Buck's hand clamped onto his wrist, stilling the motion. "Vin's your job, ol' dog. Me--I've got bigger fish to fry." 

Chris shook his head, but his throat felt tight. "You've been watching my back an awfully long time. Must be damn tired of it by now."

"I'm still here, ain't I? Buck picked up Chris's mug and his own and took them to the sink. "Get some sleep; I'll hold down the fort."

His intended refusal came out a jaw-cracking yawn. "Only if you wake me by six," he said, shoving back his chair and standing. The muscles in his back creaked in protest as he stretched.

"Yup."

"Or if he needs me."

"Will do."

"Make sure you check on him."

"Uh-huh."

"He might wake up disoriented. The doc says--"

"Chris."

"All right. I'm going."

He was halfway down the hall, anticipating cool sheets and a soft mattress, when Vin's bloodcurdling scream drove all thoughts of sleep from his head.

"Sean! No!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chris narrowly avoided colliding with Buck as they both raced for the den where Vin had been napping on the sofa. Now he was curled over, his injured hand cradled in his lap, his forehead pressed to his knees. As Chris drew closer he saw that Vin's white T-shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and he was breathing in short, harsh pants.

Despite his headlong rush, Chris hesitated, and he saw his indecision mirrored on Buck's face. The shudder that vibrated through Vin's body got him moving, circling the couch so that he wasn't approaching his friend from the back.

"Hey. Are you all right?"

Though he deliberately lowered his voice, Vin jumped as if he'd screamed in his ear. He lifted his ashen face and looked blankly at them. "What?"

"Sorry." Chris eased onto the end of the couch, feeling as if he were dealing with a skittish colt. "Didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?"

Vin gave him another thousand-yard stare before answering. "No. I mean . . . uh, yeah. Water'd be good."

"I've got it," Buck said, gesturing for Chris to stay put.

Chris eyed Vin surreptitiously as they both listened to the sounds of Buck moving about the kitchen. The silence between them felt heavy and awkward, but Chris found himself at a loss for words.

"Don't look at me like that," Vin finally rasped, dropping his head onto his knees so that his face was once again hidden from view.

"I don't know what you mean." Except he did. He just couldn't seem to stop.

"Ever since I woke up in the hospital, folks've been lookin' at me like I might bust into little pieces any minute. I'm damn tired of it."

"Can't hardly blame us for that," Buck said from the doorway. "Hate to say it, but you look like ten miles of bad road." He placed a glass of water into Vin's good hand, keeping his fingers curled around Vin's until the ice cubes stopped clinking.

Vin downed half the glass, then uncurled enough to set it on the coffee table, each movement tight and stiff. "If that's all it was I wouldn't give a rat's ass."

"What do you think it is?" Chris asked.

With a soft grunt, Vin leaned back against the cushions. "Y'all think I'm damaged, and you don't know how to fix me."

Since he couldn't deny Vin's assessment, Chris didn't try. "What is it you want from us?"

"To stop treatin' me like a victim." When Buck snorted, Vin pinned him with a glare. "What?"

"Those boys tied you to a chair, beat the shit outta you, and tortured you. Like it or not, you _are_ a victim, Junior."

 _Here we go_ , thought Chris, expecting Vin to bite Buck's head off. Though he was normally long on patience, his friend tended to react sharply to anything that threatened his autonomy. But to Chris's surprise, Vin closed his eyes, his face crumpling.

"At least it's over. For me." He pulled his injured hand closer to his chest.

Recognizing the protective gesture, Chris narrowed his eyes. "That was more than a nightmare. You remembered something."

Vin's throat made a dry click as he swallowed. "Just . . . flashes."

"Such as?" When he didn't answer right away, Chris pressed. "Give me something, Vin. Anything."

"Chris--"

"Spencer's breathing fire, Buck. Travis can only hold him off so long."

"I'm just sayin' you should ease off, give him a little space."

"You think I like pressing him? I wish to hell he didn't have to remember, but we both know--"

"I'll tell you, all right? Just shut the fuck up." Vin ground the heel of one hand into his eye, and Chris felt a surge of guilt, remembering Lorenzo's admonition to see that he rest.

This time he didn't break the silence, keeping a tight rein on his impatience. When Vin did speak his expression was flat and devoid of emotion.

"The first finger . . ." His voice cracked and he took a deep breath. "They--he didn't even ask any questions. Just bent it back 'til . . ." Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and he swallowed hard.

"You going to be sick?" Chris asked quietly.

Despite the fact that he looked distinctly green, Vin shook his head. "The muscle-bound guy that had me in the chair--"

"Al Westin. He's a free agent."

One corner of Vin's mouth turned up. "Bastard's good." That shred of animation quickly faded. "Enjoys his work, too. Told me the first finger was just to be sure I knew what the next few were gonna feel like."

"Son of a bitch," Buck said in a strangled growl.

"Don't know which is worse," Vin said. "The pain or the snappin' sound the bone makes right before it hits."

Chris frowned at the emotionless, almost dreamy tone. Vin was distancing himself, he realized grimly. Going to a safe place in his head where he could remain detached from the trauma unearthed by the memory. It wouldn't be the first time.

His friend hadn't talked much about his difficult childhood. But once, after a particularly difficult case, a few too many beers had lowered Vin's guard and loosened his tongue.

Chris had hauled his stumbling friend up four flights of stairs to his apartment and poured him onto his couch. When Vin nearly toppled to the floor trying to remove his boots, he'd sat on the coffee table, pulling first one foot and then the other into his lap while his friend squirmed and snickered that he was ticklish. By the time Chris had made coffee, however, Vin had slipped back into the black mood that had prompted his uncharacteristic drinking.

"What's gonna happen to her?" he'd asked Chris, referring to the gunrunner's obviously battered 8-year-old daughter.

"Social services was trying to track down the grandmother," Chris had said, handing his friend a mug of coffee. "Otherwise . . ."

"Foster care." Vin had pronounced it like a dirty word.

"She's a tough little thing," Chris had observed, shaking his head, "holding up under those conditions."

Vin had huffed with a humorless smile. "There's ways to get through just about anythin'. Don't mean you're okay."

Knowing he was walking a tightrope, Chris had kept his gaze fixed on his own cup. "That what you did? Found a way?"

After a moment's stiffness, Vin had sighed. "Guess you could say I went someplace safe, even if it was only in my mind. He could knock my body around, lock me in the closet. But he couldn't touch me."

He'd said it so calmly, but Chris's stomach had twisted queasily. _Dissociation_ , his training had whispered. _Bet that never came up during the psych eval._ "Where'd you go?" he'd asked, working hard to keep his voice steady.

And Vin had smiled that beautiful, heart-melting smile he'd come to see more often since his friend had joined Team 7. "My ma's kitchen. Even though I was just a little feller, she used to let me help her make cookies, bake bread and pies. If I close my eyes, I can still smell cinnamon and apples." 

He'd yawned, sliding sideways to curl up on the cushions. "'M pretty beat, Cowboy. Think you can let yourself out?"

He had, rocked by Vin's unexpected revelation. The next day Vin had been his normal, if slightly hungover, self. 

Chris suspected he didn't remember the conversation. If he did, he'd never mentioned it.

"Vin," he said, risking a hand to his friend's shoulder. "Where was Sean?"

Vin startled, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Chris's face. "I don't know."

"Don't answer right away. Think about it."

"I told you--I don't _know_! Everything's in . . . in pieces and . . . and full of holes."

From the corner of his eye, Chris saw Buck lean forward. He pinned his old friend with a warning glare and a sharp shake of his head. Though clearly unhappy, Buck subsided.

"Don't worry about the gaps," Chris coaxed, turning his full attention back on Vin. "Just concentrate on the fragment you remembered."

"You think I haven't been tryin'?" His face twisted with distress, Vin looked away. "You sound like Spencer." 

Chris flinched. Ignoring the weight of Buck's gaze was difficult, but facing the pain in Vin's accusation was agony. _Congratulations, Larabee. You've managed to shake him out of that protective cocoon, all right. Hope it's worth it._

"I think you've probably been trying too hard." He squeezed Vin's shoulder; the muscles felt like iron under his grip. "You see things differently than most of us--hell, you pick up on crime scene details I miss."

"What do you want, Chris?"

Chris ached at the bone-weary sound of Vin's voice. _I want to rewind the past five days_ , he thought. _I want none of this to have happened._

"Close your eyes and try to relax," he said. "See if you can visualize the chair, the room . . . Westin."

Vin stared at him for a long moment before doing as Chris asked. His breathing was ragged and small tremors shivered through his body. Chris slid his hand to cup the back of Vin's neck in silent reassurance.

"He . . . I think . . ." Vin licked his lips. "It was just me and Westin. We . . . we were alone in that room."

"Good. That's good, Cowboy. Westin had two partners. They weren't there?"

"Not when . . . Not when he was . . ."

"It's okay, Junior. We get it," Buck said, his voice tight.

"Easy," Chris soothed. "Can you see anything of Sean? Any sign he was there earlier?"

Vin frowned. "No. But I . . ." His eyes flew open and he twisted toward Chris, oblivious to his injured ribs. "God, Chris, he was there, somewhere, in another room."

"You saw him?"

"I heard him." Vin pressed his uninjured hand to his stomach, looking as if he was fighting the urge to vomit. "He was screamin'."

"Okay, that's about enough." Buck scooped up the water glass, pressing it into Vin's hand as he sat opposite Chris. "Breathe slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth. And see if you can drink some more of this water." He scowled at Chris, daring him to object.

"'M okay." But the glass shook in Vin's hand and his voice didn't hold much conviction.

"You did real good," Chris said, rubbing at the knots in Vin's neck before dropping his hand.

A faint snort told him Vin was regaining a bit of his fire. "How do you figure? Hearin' him scream doesn't tell us jack."

"It tells us he was brought to the warehouse along with you," Chris replied.

"And that he was still alive," Buck added. "It means something, kiddo."

Vin didn't reply, just sipped at the water, his eyes little more than slits.

"What time is it?" Chris asked Buck, annoyed that he'd somehow neglected to wear his watch.

"Just after four." Buck, as usual, knew right where he was headed. "Pills are in the bag with the pharmacy stuff. I'll get 'em."

The fact that Vin didn't protest the idea of more drugs--didn't even seem to notice--spoke volumes about how much pain he was in. When the glass wobbled precariously in his hand, Chris rescued it and set it aside. His friend barely noticed. He pressed his fingers into the flesh above his right eye, rocking in an unconscious effort to ease the discomfort.

"I'm sorry."

Vin squinted at him. "You're not the one did this."

"That's not what I mean. I'm sorry for just now, for pushing."

Vin huffed, then winced as if the movement intensified the headache. "Hell, Chris, you been pushin' me since the day we met. Why should a little thing like a concussion make a difference?"

The weary words blindsided him in a way only Vin could. He pulled back, sucker-punched, struggling for a response in the same way a physical blow would have made him fight for air.

Then Buck returned and the moment was swallowed up by the more imminent concerns of helping Vin down the pills and some crackers, supporting him as he hobbled to the bathroom, and convincing him to stretch out on the bed in the darkened guest room. 

Once Vin was covered with a light quilt to ward off the chill, his hand cradled on a pillow, Buck headed out to feed the horses. Chris hovered in the doorway, uncertain whether to remain or go.

"Chris. Stay a minute." The strong painkillers had kicked in--Vin was sprawled on the mattress, his pupils so dilated only a ring of blue remained.

Chris pulled up a chair and sat. "You need to sleep, Pard. Doctor's orders." He felt a fresh stab of guilt. _Which I've pretty much shot to hell by interrogating you like a suspect._

"I didn't mean it like that."

The remorse in Vin's voice caught his attention before the words. "What?"

"What I said, about pushin'--it didn't come out right."

Chris shrugged, clasping his hands loosely between his knees though his body felt coiled with tension. "No big deal."

"It ain't that you push, exactly, it's--"

"Sure I do." Chris twitched his lips at Vin's startled expression. "Come on. They don't call me 'Badass Larabee' for nothing." He shook his head. "I demand a lot from people. Maybe too much. It hasn't always made me the most popular guy in the room."

"Chris . . ." Vin trailed off, biting his lip. "Growin' up . . . Folks either tried to crush me under the heel of their boot, or just plain forgot I existed. What you call pushin' . . ." One corner of his mouth turned up. "It don't bother me."

Chris cleared his throat but the lump wouldn't go away. "You going to tell me if it does?"

"Hell, I'll knock you on your ass." Vin's grin dissolved into a yawn.

"Big talk for someone who can barely lift a glass." Chris stood. "Get some sleep."

"You goin'?" The question would have been innocuous but for the flicker of unease in Vin's eyes.

"Don't have to," he replied, lowering himself to the edge of the chair. "Could stay for a bit."

Color rose in Vin's pale cheeks. "Don't want to put you out. It's just . . . Guess I'm used to the hospital. Feels too quiet."

"No problem. But if you expect me to take your temperature and blood pressure every few hours, you're out of luck."

Vin snickered as his eyes drifted shut. "You ain't nearly cute enough for that job, Cowboy."

Chris stretched out his legs and tipped his head back, soothed by the rhythm of Vin's breathing as it deepened and slowed with sleep. He slid into a doze, a distant corner of his brain registering when Buck returned from the barn and began puttering around in the kitchen.

Sometime later the phone trilled, bringing Chris fully awake, and he was grateful when Buck picked it up on the second ring. Vin slept on, held under by drugs and exhaustion. Chris scrubbed gritty eyes and stood, rolling his shoulders to loosen the kinks. When he turned, Buck was in the doorway, his face pale and grim.

Chris's stomach clenched. Motioning Buck out of the room, he quietly shut the door and led the way to the den. In the final pale threads of daylight, Buck's expression was even more stricken, his blue eyes red-rimmed and his mouth tense.

"The phone call?" 

"It was Travis." Buck ran a hand down his face.

"Sean?"

"They found him, Chris. At a construction site about three miles from the warehouse." Buck sucked in a shaky breath. "He'd been shot once in the head, execution style. He's dead."


	7. Chapter 7

"Who found him?" Chris poked at a piece of chicken, set down his chopsticks, and picked up the tumbler of whiskey instead. Josiah, Nathan, Ezra, and J.D. had showed up with takeout shortly after the phone call about Sean. Vin was still in the guest bedroom, down for the count.

"One of the construction workers noticed something sticking out of the ground." Josiah grimaced. "Turned out to be Sean's hand. Guess whoever disposed of the body was in a rush, didn't bury it deep enough. That wind storm last night must've stirred up the dirt."

"We're damn lucky it did." Nathan removed the glass from Chris's fingers and looked pointedly at his barely touched food. "Otherwise he'd be covered with two tons of concrete by now and we'd never have found him." 

"How's Jim taking it?" Buck asked.

"Ted said he was in Travis's office for nearly an hour, yelling about what a mess this investigation's been," J.D. said, piling kung pao chicken onto his plate and adding an egg roll. "Then he holed up in his office to make the call to Sean's wife."

"Damn. Not a call I'd want to make." Buck exchanged a long look with Chris. "Just another reason why I won't be gunnin' for your job, stud."

"That's a load off my mind."

"Save some of that rice for Vin," Nathan said as J.D. reached for the carton. "His stomach's not ready for the spicy stuff." He looked at Chris through narrowed eyes. "And while we're on the subject, neither is yours."

"Speaking of Mr. Tanner, should I retrieve him before the food gets cold--" Ezra raised an eyebrow at J.D. "--or vanishes?"

"Let him sleep," Chris replied. "I'll nuke it when he wakes up."

"When are you going to tell him?" Buck's voice sounded unnaturally subdued.

It was the question that had been foremost in his mind ever since he'd learned of Sean's death. Unfortunately, Chris felt no closer to an answer. "I'm not sure."

Josiah tipped back in his chair, lacing his hands across his stomach. "Best to do it right away. He's all tied up in knots thinking he needs to save the boy."

"Surely you're not foolish enough to believe that learning he's dead will be an improvement?" Ezra drawled. "Our friend is determined to bear responsibility in this matter. I fear the news of Mr. Donovan's demise will only provide further justification for castigating himself."

"But he'd want to know the truth!" J.D. was wide-eyed with outrage. "You all know how Vin feels about being coddled. He'd hit the roof if he found out we were holding back on him."

Nathan shook his head. "I believe in honesty as much as the next man. But we've got to consider what's best for Vin. He was knockin' on death's door a few days ago, and he's still awful weak. That head injury is nothin' to mess with. Truth be told, I ain't so sure he's up to the shock."

"Not that I don't appreciate all this input," Chris said through gritted teeth, "but I'll decide when and how he's told." He stood and carried his plate to the sink, ignoring Nathan's glare as he dumped the food down the disposal. "Ezra, keep working the streets. Someone's got to have information on who was picking up Westin's tab. Josiah, I want to see the autopsy results as soon as they're available. Lean on forensics if you have to."

"Will do, boss." The big man hesitated, obviously choosing his words with care. "Jim Spencer's not going to let this rest, Chris. He's been making a lot of noise over the fact Vin hasn't given a formal statement yet."

"Jim Spencer needs to take his head out of his ass. Vin wouldn't last five minutes under that kind of pressure. Not to mention the fact that he can't remember a whole helluva lot right now."

"He's pushing Travis to bring in a psychiatrist."

Chris whipped around, dropping his voice to a low growl. "He _what_?"

"Just graspin' at straws, Chris," Buck said. "He's desperate."

"You knew about this?"

Buck hitched his shoulders. "He mentioned it. I figured it was just blowin' off steam."

Nathan made a soft sound of disgust. "Yeah, well I sure hope no one else is takin' him seriously. There's likely a damn good reason why Vin's missin' those days. Forcin' him to remember--short-circuiting that kind of natural defense mechanism--is just askin' for trouble."

"Don't worry. Vin will be seeing a psychiatrist over my dead body." Chris yanked open the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He flipped the top into the trash can and took two swallows, then pressed the cold glass against his throbbing temple. In the uneasy silence he could feel the others trading glances.

Surprisingly, it was Buck, not Nathan, who spoke up. "Runnin' yourself to the ground ain't gonna help anyone, least of all Vin."

"I'm fine." The skeptical looks on their faces were really pissing him off. "I'm going to check on him."

Outside the kitchen he leaned against the wall, his head thumping gently against the plaster. Three deep breaths and four swallows later, when he'd reined in the urge to punch something--some _one_ \--he continued to the guestroom. 

The empty guestroom.

For a split second, Chris flashed on an image of Vin being abducted at gunpoint while the rest of them blithely chatted around the kitchen table. His heart pounded and his hand jerked reflexively to the nonexistent gun at the small of his back. Then investigator mode kicked in and he catalogued the twisted, sweat-dampened sheets, Vin's untouched duffel at the foot of the bed, and the fact that the blanket and his moccasins were missing.

"Son of a bitch." Chris bypassed the spill of light and laughter from the kitchen, grabbing his jacket as he quietly slipped out the French doors to the deck.

The lounge chairs were empty, and Vin wasn't standing in his usual spot near the steps. Swearing under his breath, Chris headed across the yard toward the barn. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spied a lone figure leaning heavily against the corral.

Pony greeted him with a soft nicker, while Peso snorted and tossed up his heels. Vin didn't even turn his head.

"Are you trying to end up back in the hospital?" The fact that he sounded like Nathan fed Chris's temper. "You heard Lorenzo's instructions--no unnecessary activity and stay the hell out of the cold. The last thing you need right now is--"

_Oh, god._

Chris caught his breath, his anger choked off as abruptly as his voice when the wan light of the crescent moon illuminated glistening trails on his friend's cheeks.

"Vin?"

"Sean's dead."

So damn capable and self-sufficient, it was easy to forget how young Vin was. The lost, little-boy tone of his raspy voice hit Chris low, in the belly. He turned, pressing his back against the rails to better see his friend's face. "Yeah."

Vin nodded, his gaze locked on the horses as he scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

"Heard us talking?" Chris asked after several minutes passed with only Vin's ragged breathing to break the silence.

"Had a nightmare--memory. Nothin' concrete, just . . . somethin' real bad." A shudder crashed through Vin's body like a wave. "Got up for a glass of water an' heard Josiah." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out that way."

"So you were gonna tell me?" The grief in the words couldn't mask the edge.

"Yeah. I was." He waited a beat, then pitched his voice low and gentle. "This was not your fault, Vin."

His friend squeezed his eyes shut, but moisture leaked from the corners. "You can't know that."

Chris slid his hand under the tangled mane at the base of his friend's neck and squeezed. "Yes, I can. Because I know _you_. And there's no way in hell you'd have allowed anything to happen to Sean if it was in your power to stop it."

"God, Chris." Vin's voice cracked and his breathing turned to choked gasps as he fought back the tears. "I don't . . . Why him an' not me? He had folks who cared about him--his wife, his parents. It shoulda--"

"Shut up." Chris tugged until Vin sagged against his chest and he felt the warmth of tears on his neck. "You've got people who care about you too, you stupid jackass. Don't _ever_ think otherwise."

When his friend swayed, his knees wobbling, Chris slipped an arm around his waist. "All right, that's it. Let's get you inside where you can lie down."

He wasn't prepared for Vin to pull away. His friend's feet tangled in the blanket and he nearly wound up on the ground. "Damn it, Vin, what the hell . . . ?"

"Can't go back in there. Not yet. I just . . . The walls are closin' in on me, Chris."

One of the great mysteries of the universe had to be the way Vin Tanner could reduce Chris Larabee to a spineless wonder. He sighed. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that? Come on--at least the barn is out of the wind."

Vin didn't reply, but Chris would have to be blind not to see the gratitude in his eyes. He parked his friend on some bales of hay and rounded up the horses. By the time they were tucked away in their stalls, Vin had regained his composure and some color to his cheeks.

Chris pulled up an adjoining seat, hoping the others had the good sense to leave them alone.

"It was me they wanted."

Chris looked sharply at Vin, but his friend's head was bowed. "How do you know?"

"Remembered some stuff the big guy--Westin?--said."

"Okay."

The silence stretched out, but Chris waited while Vin plucked a sprig of hay and fiddled with it.

"Kept tellin' me . . ." He sucked in a shaky breath. "Tellin' me Sean's life was in my hands. It was up to me whether . . . whether he lived or . . ." He pressed his lips together and tossed the shredded hay to the floor.

"Which is complete bullshit." Chris chased Vin's gaze until his friend was forced to look him in the eye. "You had no weapon, no back-up. They ambushed you, tied you to a chair, and beat the hell out of you. They had all the power, Cowboy. The only thing you could do was hang on until we found you. And you did."

Vin swallowed hard and looked away. "Don't change the fact that if he hadn't been with me--"

"Sean was a federal agent. He put his life on the line every day. It could just as easily have been him they were after."

"But it wasn't."

And what the hell was he supposed to say to that? Chris ran a hand over his burning stomach, regretting the whiskey. He didn't for a moment blame Vin for Sean's death. But he also understood impotence made a lousy excuse for failing to save someone who needed you. 

"Chris." Vin hesitated. "There's somethin' I gotta do."

"No shit. You've got to go back inside, eat something, and take your pills."

"Chris."

He rubbed a hand along his jaw, grimacing at the burn of stubble. "All right, all right. What do you need to do?"

"You ain't gonna like it."

"Now there's a news flash."

"I need to go back to the warehouse. To the room where they . . . where he . . . I gotta see it."

It was the last thing he'd expected to hear. Chris glared at his friend. "No."

Clenching his jaw, Vin shook his head. "I ain't askin' you, I'm tellin' you. I'm goin' back."

"Are you out of your mind? Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Vin looked like death warmed over, all shadows, sharp angles, and too-pale skin. 

But there was defiance written in the tilt of his chin, the set of his mouth, and the fire in his eyes. 

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why?"

"When Spencer showed me Sean's shirt--"

"Asshole," Chris muttered before he could stop himself.

Vin's lips curved in the closest thing to a smile he'd seen all day before it quickly vanished. "Seein' the shirt, the . . . the blood . . . It triggered a real clear memory."

"I know. I was there. You were practically catatonic--or have you forgotten that part?"

"Will you shut up and listen? The point is that I remembered. And if a little thing like Sean's shirt could do it, I reckon bein' in the place where . . ." The words caught in his throat and he pulled the blanket tighter. "It could work, Chris."

"It could also push you over the edge!" Chris stood and paced, hoping it would assuage the urge to shake his friend. "Sean's dead, Vin."

"And we don't know why!" Vin snapped. He sagged back against the hay, shaking with weariness and emotion. "I gotta know why."

Cut to the bone, Chris dropped down beside him. "I want to find out who was behind this as badly as you do. But not at your expense. We're not racing to save a man's life anymore. Give yourself a chance to heal."

Vin chuckled, but it was laughter born from tears. "You don't get it, do you? I can't heal, not as long as there's a fuckin' black hole in my head. Not as long as Sean's lyin' on a slab while his killer walks free." 

"I still don't like it." When Vin didn't relent, he sighed. "You know, all I've gotta do is warn the boys that you're grounded, no exceptions. It's not like you can drive yourself."

His friend surprised him again by latching onto his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. "Chris. Please."

It was a damn fool idea, all risk and no guarantees. He'd be crazy to even consider it.

And there was no way in hell he could say no.

"We go back to the house, you eat, take the damn pills, and go to bed," he growled. "You don't get at least eight hours and all bets are off."

"Deal." The relief on Vin's face was heartbreaking. "You won't regret it."

 _Ah, Vin,_ he thought, his throat tight. _I already do._


	8. Chapter 8

"Good morning." Chris extended an arm behind him, an invitation to enter.

Nathan stepped over the threshold, the sudden warmth a balm to his wind-nipped cheeks and ears. He stripped off his gloves and unzipped his coat, covertly studying his friend in the process. Chris was showered, shaved, and neatly dressed in a turtleneck and black jeans. Yet fine lines of weariness bracketed his eyes and mouth, and the gruff economy of his movements screamed tension.

"Is it?" Nathan asked, keeping his tone deceptively mild.

With a quick frown over his shoulder, Chris led the way to the kitchen. "Is it what?"

"A good morning."

"Coffee?" Though he phrased it as a question, Chris retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. He filled them both and joined Nathan at the table. 

"Thanks." Nathan took a sip, feeling a bit more of the morning chill leave his bones. "You didn't answer my question."

Chris twisted his mouth either in wry amusement or annoyance, Nathan wasn't sure which. "It's morning. Good might be an overstatement."

"Rough night?"

A shrug, and Chris took a long drink from his mug. "Had better."

The last week hadn't been kind to any of them, and Nathan had never had much tolerance for bullshit. He set down his mug and braced his folded arms on the table. "Cut the crap, Chris. You gonna make me drag every last word outta you?"

It was a calculated gamble--Chris would either be amused or rip him a new one. Fortunately, he chose the former. "You're like a dog with a bone, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah. And gettin' information from you is like squeezin' blood from a stone. Did either of you sleep?"

"Vin took one of the pills Lorenzo prescribed, so--"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. He took a sleeping pill?" Nathan narrowed his eyes. "Voluntarily?"

Chris flashed his teeth. "Let's just say we negotiated."

Relaxing against the back of his chair, Nathan shook his head. "Huh. So it worked?"

"He was out about seven hours."

Something in Chris's voice told him there was more. "But?" 

"The pill kept him under, but I'm not so sure I'd call it sleeping. He still had nightmares, he just couldn't wake up."

"And you know this because . . . ?"

"Because I watched him twitch and moan all night." Chris locked eyes with him. "I don't care if I have to scrape him off the ceiling--I'm not forcing him to take any more of those pills."

Dropping his gaze, Nathan nodded. "I said it before, Chris, and I'm gonna say it again--I think takin' him to that warehouse today is a bad idea."

"Reckon just once you could say it to his face?" Vin stood in the doorway, his hair damp and his feet bare.

Nathan coolly returned his glare. "All right. Condition you're in, I don't think you got any business goin' within five miles of the place."

"My _business_ is findin' out what happened to Sean and me. And why."

"No, it's to heal, not undo all your doctor's hard work"

Vin went white-lipped with anger. "An agent--a friend--is dead, maybe because of me. Nothin's more important than nailin' whoever's responsible." He swayed a little, leaning into the doorframe. 

Chris nudged out a chair with his foot. "Sit down before you fall down."

Nathan watched, mentally shaking his head when Vin wobbled over to the chair and sat without argument. Chris was probably the only person on God's green earth who could take that tone with him and get results. The damnedest thing was, it went both ways. 

It was no secret around the federal building that Team 7 was an exceptionally tight-knit group. They lived in each other's pockets, working together all day, socializing most weekends--and thank God Rain was so understanding about that. Any one of them would lay down his life for the others--and they'd all come damn close at some point.

But what lay between Vin and Chris went beyond all that. More than a bond, a _knowing_ deeper than words or actions. Cut one, Buck liked to say, and both would bleed. Nathan rubbed a hand along his jaw. You had only to look at Chris right now to know the truth in that observation. 

"Toast or bagel?" Chris stood and went to the cupboard for a plate. When Vin didn't answer, he turned, propping his hands on his hips.

With a little wince, Vin licked his lips. "Chris, I ain't sure I--"

"Toast. Or bagel."

As Nathan looked on, a silent conversation crackled between the two. Vin furrowed his brow, stiffening. Chris clenched his jaw and raised an eyebrow. They glared at each other for a long moment until Vin's shoulders curled and he slumped back in his chair. 

"Toast."

Chris had the good grace not to gloat, simply nodded and went about shoving a slice of bread in the toaster. A second, shorter battle of wills ensued when Vin asked for coffee, Chris eventually setting half a cup beside the toast.

And didn't that sum up their friendship, Nathan mused as Vin picked through his breakfast and Chris did the dishes and pretended not to watch. Two immovable objects who somehow managed to move each other. Amazing that someone who was your greatest weakness could also be your greatest strength.

When the toast had been reduced to mangled crust and crumbs, Vin shoved aside the plate. He grabbed two of the three pills Chris had set out, washing them down with the rest of his coffee. "I'm ready." 

Chris picked up the plate, nudging the lone tablet. "Missed one."

The mulish expression returned. "Not takin' it." When Chris opened his mouth to protest, Vin cut him off. "Those damn pills make me fuzzy, and I need a clear head. I can deal with the pain."

The crack of the plate hitting the counter made Nathan jump. Chris's back was rigid with anger. "Yeah, I saw how you dealt with it yesterday. You're not exactly the poster boy for self-preservation, you know that?"

It took strength of will to keep silent, but Nathan was wise enough to understand this argument was about far more than whether or not Vin took his meds. 

As Chris scrubbed the plate and slapped it into the drainer, Vin eyed him with weary resignation. "Chris, I just . . ." The words seemed to catch in his throat and his chest hitched. "I need this to be over. So please, just . . . just let me do what I gotta do."

Chris didn't move for a long moment. When he turned to lean against the counter, his face was carefully neutral, but a muscle twitched high in his cheek. "Go get the gauze and I'll bandage your feet." 

Nathan--and from the looks of it, Vin--was surprised by the gentleness in his voice.

Vin nodded, leaving the kitchen without a word.

Nathan cleared his throat. Though he was reluctant to press the issue, seeing Vin had only increased his apprehension about this little field trip. "Chris, I don't think--"

"Don't say it, Nate. I--" A phone trilled and he huffed his frustration, pulling his cell from his pocket. "Larabee."

Nathan took his cup to the sink, listening more closely when he saw Chris was intensely focused on the call.

"Is he sure?" He relaxed rigid shoulders. "When can we expect the full report?" A pause. "Stay on top of him, Josiah. I want those results in my hands before the end of the day." He exchanged a few more words, then shut the phone with a click.

"Autopsy?" Nathan asked.

Vin chose that moment to return with tape and gauze. Chris gave Nathan a nod, then turned his attention to their friend. "Vin. Sit down."

"What did he say?" Vin asked sharply, but he sank into one of the chairs.

"Paxton's not done, but he called Josiah with his preliminary findings."

"And?"

"Sean was shot nearly a week ago. Near as he can tell, the time of death occurred late on the sixth or early on the seventh."

 _Thank you, Lord,_ Nathan thought. He must have sighed audibly, because Chris looked at him, then back at Vin. 

"You understand what this means, Cowboy?"

Vin turned his head, blinking furiously. "He died before you found me."

"That's right. Even if you'd remembered everything, it was already too late." Chris pulled out the chair beside Vin and sat, giving his friend's arm a firm squeeze. "There was nothing you could have done to save him. Nothing."

Vin sucked in a shaky breath and squared his shoulders. When he looked back at them, his eyes were dry, his gaze hard. "There's sure as hell somethin' I can do now." He handed Chris the gauze.

One corner of Chris's mouth turned up, though sorrow etched lines around his eyes. "Fair enough. I got your back, Pard."

Nathan huffed in weary resignation. "We both do."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chris pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. As Vin stared at the crumbling brick and boarded-up windows, his stomach gave a queasy lurch. From the corner of his eye he saw Chris exchange a long glance with Nathan via the rearview mirror. 

"We can still turn around and head home," Chris said, shifting in his seat until he faced Vin. "You don't have to do this."

Vin looked at him, feeling more fatigue than impatience. "Yeah, I do." 

With his right hand he unlatched the seatbelt and reached over to shove open his door, grimacing when the motion put pressure on his ribs. By the time he'd eased his feet onto the pavement, Chris was at his elbow, steadying him, and Nathan was at his back. Logically, he could appreciate their support and concern, but he was tired, he hurt, and the thought of laying himself bare while they looked on left him short-tempered and edgy.

"Can still walk, last time I checked." He shrugged off Chris's hold and headed for the large metal door bisected with yellow crime-scene tape.

The fact that he was too weak to pull the damn thing open only ratcheted his irritation to a higher level. He hated feeling helpless, and the bastard who'd done the number on his fingers had sentenced him to an agony that went far beyond the simple pain of broken bones. He'd learned long ago that dependency was a weakness that would come back to bite him in the ass. It was one of the few things he truly feared.

Vin stepped inside and a moment later the door clanged shut behind him. Though fingers of light crept through the cracks of the boarded windows, the interior was still heavily shadowed. Something twisted low in Vin's belly and he broke out in gooseflesh. 

Chris looked at him intently. "We found you in one of the offices on the second floor. Stairs are over there."

With a curt nod, he followed. The stairwell was littered with used needles and smelled like piss. Halfway up Vin's legs turned wobbly and he had to pause, one hand propped against the wall as he breathed through his mouth. By the time he reached the top and started down the long hallway his throat was bone dry and cold sweat trickled between his shoulder blades.

Something dark--blood and screams and fury and helplessness--flickered like a shadow in the corner of his mind's eye. He didn't realize he'd stopped walking until Chris pressed a hand to the middle of his back. "You getting something?"

"Nothin' concrete. Just . . . somethin' bad." Vin swallowed hard. "Real bad."

"Take your time," Nathan said, coming up on his other side. "No reason to rush."

He got his feet moving anyway, drawn forward by a tangled mixture of need, curiosity, and dread. 

Halfway down the corridor Chris gestured to an open doorway. "In there."

Nathan stepped in front of him before he could cross the threshold. In the dim lighting the healer's eyes looked nearly black. "Vin--"

"'Preciate your concern, Nate, but I ain't turnin' back. Now step aside."

Nathan turned his glare on Chris, who shook his head. "Man knows his own mind."

 _Just a room_ , Vin mused once he was inside. Peeling linoleum on the floor. A rusted-out file cabinet with most of its drawers missing tipped drunkenly against one wall. A metal folding chair looking lonely and out of place in the very center. Vin stared at the chair, mesmerized. His stomach did a flip-flop and his heart began to pound.

_Blood in his eyes, in his mouth, thick, coppery._

_"Look. At. Him." Fingers in his hair, pulling his head up. He doesn't want to see, can't look away._

_"You've got to the count of three."_

"Easy, cowboy," Chris murmured. That voice meant safety, and it nudged Vin back from the edge.

He knew what he had to do, but he couldn't stop shivering. "Gotta sit down."

"Come back into the hallway," Nathan said. "I've got a bottle of water in my pack."

He saw Chris get it the moment he shook his head. His friend's green eyes hardened and his voice took on that low warning growl usually reserved for the bad guys. "No. Damn it, Vin, I'm not watching while you--"

"Reckon that chair's as good as any." He returned Chris's glare without flinching. "It's why I'm here. If it bothers you so much you can wait in the hall."

"I'm not going anywhere."

It was funny how he could draw so much comfort from an ornery, bad-tempered cuss like Chris Larabee. Vin nodded. Sucking in a deep breath, he walked to the chair and sat.

Nothing.

Not a flicker of memory. It'd be funny if it weren't so damn frustrating. He looked around the room, ignoring the weight of Chris and Nathan's stares, but the only thing that sprang to mind was how the stupid chair hurt his back and put pressure on his ribs. 

"Anything?" Chris asked.

"Not a damn--" And then his foot brushed something caught on the bottom of the chair leg--a short reddish-brown strip of plastic. He leaned over for a closer look.

A piece of a restraint. Stained with blood.

His blood.

And it all crashed in on him with the force of a freight train . . . 

_Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber saunter into the room. Dumber's got something tucked under his arm--a plastic tarp--and they proceed to spread it on the floor._

_He looks up at the butt-ugly gorilla who's got cigarette burns and breaking fingers down to an art. "We havin' a picnic?" His voice cracks and fades but he can still do sarcasm._

_The sonuvabitch backhands him before he sees it coming and blood fills his mouth. "I've listened to enough of your bullshit, Tex. Time's up."_

_He bites down hard on his tongue to keep in the retort--his lip's split and his cheekbone feels broken. A moment later Dumb and Dumber return, dragging Sean between them._

_He straightens up, breathing hard. Sean's left eye is swollen almost shut and his nose has bled all over his tee shirt. When they force him to kneel on the tarp, he looks up with dead eyes._

_"Vin. Sorry."_

_"Sean. You okay?" When his friend just looks away, he glares at his captors. "Let him go. He's no use to you. He doesn't know anythin'."_

_Gorilla leans in close. His breath smells like onion and garlic from the sub sandwich he ate while Vin's stomach rumbled and his mouth flooded with saliva. "Are you kidding? Ol' Sean here's my ace in the hole." He nods at Tweedle-dumb, who pulls a silenced Sig from his waistband and presses the muzzle to Sean's temple._

_His heart pounds so hard he can hear it. "Don't."_

_Gorilla bares his teeth like a shark going in for the kill. "I see I've got your attention. That's good."_

_Sean looks at him with wide, terrified eyes and he thinks he might throw up. "Don't hurt him."_

_"It's real simple, Tex. You tell me what I want to know, now, or your friend gets a bullet to the brain."_

_Oh god, oh god. Someone's gonna die and he can't . . . he can't . . . He drops his head, squeezing his eyes shut, but Gorilla grabs him by the hair. "Look. At. Him."_

_Tears of pain sting his scraped cheek._

_"You've got to the count of three. One . . ."_

_"Please, don't do this. I don't know anythin', You've gotta--"_

_"Two . . ."_

_"I told you I don't know anythin' you fuckin' piece of--"_

_"Three."_

_A muffled pop. A scream. A splatter of liquid heat._

_"No!"_

Everything goes blessedly dark.


	9. Chapter 9

Chris wasn't sure which scared him more--when Vin went blank and glassy-eyed and unresponsive, or when he slumped in the chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Thank God for reflexes honed by years spent doing the job. He lunged forward, catching his friend before he could hit the floor and possibly inflict further harm on his already concussed skull. Vin was a limp tangle of limbs as he eased him onto his back, his face washed of color.

"Nathan!" 

But the medic was already shrugging off his backpack and kneeling. His lips a thin line of disapproval, he checked Vin's pulse and pupils. "Shock," he muttered, pulling a bottle of water from the pack before sliding the bag under Vin's legs. "Hey, Vin, you with us?"

Though his eyelids fluttered open, Vin's gaze was distant, the way he sometimes looked while enjoying a particularly spectacular mountain sunset. 

_Or baking in his mother's kitchen,_ Chris thought grimly, recalling his friend's method of coping when under extreme duress. "Vin. Vin!" He tapped Vin's cheek gently, then with more force. 

"Easy, Chris," Nathan warned. "That ain't gonna do him any good. Talk to him. He needs to know he's safe here with us and not . . ."

Forcing aside the tension and worry, Chris pitched his voice low and soothing. "Listen to me, Cowboy. Whatever happened, whatever you remembered, it's over and done and we'll deal with it."

Vin's gaze slid into focus. "Chris?"

"Right here."

He squeezed his eyes shut and his breathing sped up. "God."

"Slow it down, Vin, you're gonna hyperventilate," Nathan said.

"Gonna be sick."

They rolled him just in time. There wasn't much to come up, but the dry heaves lasted long enough to make Chris's ribs ache in sympathy. When the spasms finally eased, he propped Vin against his chest while Nathan got the ailing man to rinse his mouth and drink some water. Neither he nor the healer were prepared for Vin to bolt upright, struggling against Chris's supportive hold.

"Vin--what the hell . . . ?" Chris let his hands drop, seeing that his attempts to restrain his friend were only tipping Vin into a full-blown panic.

Vin crabwalked backward, staring at the floor where he'd been laying. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I can't . . . I-I gotta get outta here."

"Now just hold on." Nathan stretched out a hand. "I've seen better color on corpses. Stay put a minute and let me--"

"No." Vin twisted out of reach. He somehow got his feet under him and backed away, his gaze still fixed on the floor. "Not here."

"Vin, will you--" Chris stood, cursing under his breath as his friend staggered and nearly fell, gripping the wall for balance as he stumbled out the door.

He caught up to Vin halfway down the hallway. Evidently the adrenaline rush had worn off. His friend had his back pressed against the wall in an effort to stay upright, eyes squeezed shut as he gasped for air.

"You about done?" Chris reached out, only to jerk his hand back. The last thing he wanted was to exacerbate Vin's already jittery nerves.

Vin opened his eyes and licked dry lips. "Reckon so." His legs folded and he slid slowly down the wall.

Chris shook his head and crouched beside his friend. "Damn, Tanner, you could drive a saint to drink."

One corner of Vin's mouth turned up. "How would you know?"

"Very funny."

Nathan joined them then, thrusting the bottle of water into Vin's hand. "Here. Don't even think about movin' your ass off that spot 'til I say it's okay."

"Not goin' anywhere." After several swallows, Vin pressed the cool bottle to his forehead. His hand shook and his face was pinched and still three shades too pale.

"You want one of those painkillers now?" Chris asked, trying hard to tamp down his worry.

"Best wait a bit. 'Fraid it'd be joinin' that toast you were so set on."

With weary patience Vin submitted to Nathan's examination, offering up his arm for pulse and blood pressure without complaint but hissing when the penlight hit his eyes. He'd calmed considerably, no longer on the knife's edge of panic, but something dark and despondent lurked in his slumped shoulders and carefully averted gaze.

"That's better," Nathan said, sitting back on his heels. "Pulse is a little fast and BP's a bit too high for my liking, but I guess it's to be expected, all things considered." And he glared at Chris as if the whole crappy situation were his fault.

"He still looks like hell." Chris ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he knew what to do next. That Vin had remembered something was obvious. But there was no way he was going to push for answers when his friend was barely holding it together.

"Go ahead." Vin's voice was very soft but there was something jagged and broken in it.

"What?"

"You need some serious work on your poker face, Larabee. You're sittin' there just dyin' to ask me what I remembered."

This was what he got for letting the sonuvabitch past all his barriers. He couldn't fool Vin for shit--the man knew him almost as well as he knew himself. His only comfort was in the knowledge that Vin was just as screwed.

"Actually, I don't plan on asking you a damn thing. I'm guessing you'll tell me when you're ready."

Vin ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Don't think that time's gonna come."

Chris shifted so he was sitting beside his friend, shoulders brushing. "When I said we'd get through this, I wasn't just blowing smoke."

Vin's laugh sounded more like a sob. "Don't think even Badass Larabee can navigate his way through this one."

"Try me."

Vin looked at him with so much anguish Chris's chest ached. "They--Westin and his buddies . . . they wanted somethin' from me. Information."

It was nothing they hadn't already known, but Chris could see Vin needed to work up to the memory. "Okay. Do you remember what that information was?"

"No. I've tried everything, even that headshrinker stuff Josiah suggested--visualization or whatever the hell it's called--but no matter what I do, I don't . . . I can't . . ."

"Easy. It's all right."

"No, it's not fuckin' all right! I should be able to remember. I should know why--" He dropped his forehead onto his knees and knotted his hand in his hair. "God, there has to be a reason, don't you see that? Why would . . . how could I . . . ?"

Fingers gripped Chris's elbow and Nathan murmured in his ear. "Chris. He's not up to this."

Hearing the underlying fear in the medic's voice, he laid a hand on Vin's bowed head. "Hey. This isn't doing you any good, Pard. You need to calm down."

Vin snapped up his head, blue eyes haunted. "No. Listen to me--"

"I am. I will. But first you have to--" Chris reached out, but his friend knocked away his hand.

"Chris, I didn't tell them."

Mystified, Chris looked to Nathan, but the healer twitched a shoulder, his expression just as confused. "I never thought you would."

"Damn it, you don't understand! I didn't tell them, so they _shot_ him." 

Chris's throat closed up and his eyes burned. "Oh, Vin."

But his friend was beyond hearing. "They did it right in front of me, and I . . . his blood . . ." His voice cracked and he turned his face away, breathing hard.

Thank God for Nathan. While Chris sat frozen with rage and horror, his teammate coaxed Vin to swallow a couple pills and drink some water. As they sat in silence, Vin's breathing gradually evened out and he leaned more heavily into Chris. Nathan rechecked pulse and pressure, nodding in satisfaction, and stood up.

"C'mon," he said, gently grasping Vin's arm and helping him to his feet. "Seems to me we've all had 'bout enough of this place."

Vin didn't speak, just let them steer him down the corridor, one on each side, close but not touching. When they stepped out of the warehouse Chris filled his lungs with cold, fresh air, and something inside him thawed a little despite the bite. He unlocked the truck and leaned in to help Vin with the seatbelt, waiting until his friend met his gaze.

"I don't know what it was they were after, but I do know this. You would _never_ have let Sean take a bullet unless another life was at stake."

Vin's eyes held the despair of a drowning man. "There should've been some other way."

"But there wasn't. Believe it, Vin. I do."

Vin didn't argue, just tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Chris shut the door and walked around to the driver's side, allowing some of the earlier rage to seep back into his bones. Maybe if he were pissed enough, he wouldn't worry about breaking the news to Travis, Jim Spencer's reaction, and whether his friend would ever come to terms with the price paid for his silence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Travis remained mute when Chris finished speaking, clenching his jaw as he stared out the large window at the Denver skyline. 

"Dear God," he said finally, rubbing a hand along his chin and turning his gaze to Chris. "No wonder he couldn't remember."

"Concussion didn't help. As it is, his memories are still pretty patchy. Everything after Sean . . . It's all a blank."

"What I don't understand is why they kept Vin alive." Travis shook his head. "If executing a fellow agent and friend didn't get the desired results . . ."

"We're not sure, but . . ." Chris curled his fingers around the arms of his chair, fighting back a surge of anger. "Nathan thinks that may have been when they got the idea to try drugs."

"Dear God." Travis repeated, his voice as weary as Chris felt. "And he still doesn't remember what they wanted from him?"

"No, and it's got him tied in knots."

"Isn't that a bit odd? That he would remember the torture but not the reason for it?"

Chris shook his head. "Not according to Josiah. His theory is that Vin knew he couldn't afford to give up the information, so he buried it deep. So deep that he can't recall it even now, when he's safe."

"Where is Vin?"

"Took him back to the ranch. Nathan's with him."

"Is he . . . How's he holding up?"

"He was sleeping when I left," Chris replied. No need to tell Travis it was thanks to the Valium that Nathan had gotten Vin to swallow at the warehouse. Or that between the trauma, his lingering injuries, and the drugs he'd been little more than a walking zombie by the time they'd arrived at the ranch.

"He's going to have to talk to someone about this, Chris. His physical injuries aside, there's no way I can release him for active duty without a rubber stamp from psych."

"I realize that." Chris knew Travis was just laying his cards on the table, knew his own tone was unreasonably sharp. But getting Vin to open up to one of the departmental shrinks was going to require every bit of leverage he had--as his boss, and as his friend. He couldn't help worrying whether he was up to the challenge.

"You know, in a case like Vin's . . . well, he may need more than our people are able to give."

"Forget it. It's going to be hard enough getting him through psych services. He'll never go for a private shrink."

Travis backed off. "Have you made any progress on tracking down who hired Westin and his crew?"

"Haven't checked in with Buck yet. I was on my way down there now." Chris started to rise, but Travis waved him back to his seat.

"Chris . . . I'd like you to do me a favor."

Every muscle in Chris's body tensed but he kept his voice even. "I'm listening."

"Let _me_ tell Jim Spencer."

"Sounds more like you're the one doing the favor," Chris said dryly. "What's the matter, Orrin? You afraid I'll lack tact?"

Travis didn't take the bait. "I understand that you're still angry about the scene in the hospital--"

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it! He--"

Travis held up a hand. "My turn. You'll get yours in a minute."

Chris crossed his arms. "Fine."

"He was way out of line confronting Vin the way he did. But he's had a helluva week, Chris. Team 5 has lost a good agent and a good friend, and there hasn't been a damn thing Jim could do about it. I'm not so sure you would have fared any better under the same circumstances. So maybe you could climb down off that high horse and cut him a little slack."

Chris stood. "Is that all?"

Travis looked as if he were about to reprimand his insubordination, but leaned back with a sigh. "Yeah. Get out of here."

Chris strode to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "I'll cut Spencer all the slack you want as long as he stays the hell away from Vin. But he pulls another stunt like he did in the hospital and this time I really will kick his ass. You might want to mention that when you talk to him." He stepped out of the office and shut the door without giving Travis a chance to reply.


	10. Chapter 10

Somewhere between the fifteenth and eleventh floors, Chris realized all the other occupants had migrated to the opposite side of the elevator. When he caught a glimpse of his face reflected in the stainless steel doors, he understood why. He'd seen hardened criminals that looked a lot less threatening.

Sucking in a deep breath, he rolled his head until his neck gave a satisfying pop, then thumbed an antacid from the dwindling roll in his pocket. By the time he reached the bullpen, he had a better handle on his temper and the burn in his gut had backed off from flames to embers.

"Conference room, two minutes," he barked, waving off any questions and heading straight for his office. 

He stripped off his suit jacket and tossed it on the couch, picked up a small stack of reports, and sank into his chair. From the corner of his eye he could see the blinking light indicating he had voicemails, but he pointedly ignored it as he flipped through the paperwork.

"And a good afternoon to you, too." Buck leaned in the doorway, his gaze sharp despite the breezy tone of voice. 

"What part of 'conference room, two minutes' didn't you get?" Chris crumpled the piece of paper he was scanning into a ball. "Son of a bitch! I've told Ezra a million times--he can't write off his Armani suits as a business expense."

Buck raised an eyebrow. "Who put the bug up your ass?"

"Was there something specific you wanted, Buck?"

"Just to piss you off--is it working?" Before Chris could retort Buck set a cellophane-wrapped sandwich and a can of soda in front of him. "Figured you probably didn't take time to eat lunch."

The anger drained out of Chris, leaving behind weariness and a little bit of shame. He motioned for Buck to take a seat. "Sorry. It's been a helluva day."

"Vin?"

"I'll fill you in with the others at the briefing. I'd rather not have to go through it more than once."

"Fair enough." Buck watched him pull open the wrapper and bite into half the sandwich. "Though from the look of things, I'm not gonna like what I hear."

Chris chewed doggedly, the turkey and whole wheat like cardboard on his tongue. "Whatever happens with the case . . . This isn't going to go away anytime soon, Buck. Not for Vin."

"We'll get him through it."

"Yeah." Chris wished he believed that as strongly as Buck seemed to. 

Some of the doubt must have bled onto his face. Buck narrowed his eyes. "Chris--"

"Let's go." He dropped the half-eaten sandwich onto his desk and scooped up the soda and the stack of file folders. "The others are probably waiting."

When he stepped into the conference room, Chris couldn't help wondering if he was in the right place. Normally, corralling his six teammates in one room led to controlled chaos: Josiah waxing poetic about his latest love interest, Nathan debating Vin over what exactly constitutes a good cup of coffee, Buck and J.D. roughhousing, and Ezra offering odds on who was going to wind up hurt.

Today he was greeted with silence, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. J.D. hunched over a notepad, chomping on the eraser of his pencil. Josiah's eyes were closed, his fingers steepled in a gesture of either meditation or prayer. And Ezra . . .

"Damn it--where's Ezra?" Chris took a seat at the head of the table.

Josiah opened his eyes and gazed calmly at him for a long moment before responding. "Running down a few leads. Said he should have something for us when he gets in."

"I hope to hell he's right. Let's get started. One of you can fill him in later." Chris scrubbed a hand over his face and took another swig of the soda, wishing for something stronger.

"It would appear Vin remembered something," Josiah said, studying him with sharp eyes.

"Yeah. And it's not going to be easy for you to hear."

Chris proceeded to give them an abbreviated account of the scene at the warehouse, sticking to the facts and skimming over their impact on Vin. 

"I want the bastard behind this," he concluded, looking into each of their shell-shocked faces. "We lost a good man on a fucking whim. Sean Donovan was only taken to use as leverage against Vin. He was never part of the equation." 

Hunched down in his chair, J.D. mumbled something too soft to hear. "What did you say?" Chris asked, his tone sharper than he'd intended.

J.D. flushed under the other men's combined gazes. "I, uh . . . I said . . . not necessarily."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

After an encouraging nod from Buck, J.D. squared his shoulders. "Well, it's just . . . After I heard what Josiah said about the autopsy, I started poking around in Sean's records."

Chris raised an eyebrow at the profiler. "What exactly did Josiah say about the autopsy? And why the hell haven't I heard it before now?"

"Easy, boss. I was gonna tell you. You've just been a bit . . . preoccupied with other matters." 

"I'm here now."

Josiah nodded, stroking one big hand along his jaw. "Forensics sent me the report last night and I forwarded a copy to your email. Nothing they found was unexpected. Sean died of a single gunshot wound to the head. Powder burns indicate it was close range."

"Which can't be what's got J.D. looking like he's just found out Santa Claus isn't real."

"He's not?" Buck's feigned outrage broke a little of the tension.

"It's not what they found that was unexpected," Josiah continued, all traces of humor fading from his face. "It's what they didn't find."

"Go on."

"We all know the shape Vin was in when we got to him. Those boys came within a breath of beating him to death. But Sean . . ." Josiah shook his head. "They found some bruising and contusions on his face. Ligature marks on his wrists."

"That's _it_?" Chris frowned, his mind working furiously. "No broken bones, no burns? Drugs?"

"Nope."

"That doesn't make any sense. Vin remembers . . . He said he could hear Sean screaming." Chris chewed the inside of his cheek. "What about all the blood on Sean's shirt?"

"Near as they could tell, it came from his nose. And the gunshot." The big man shifted in his chair and his voice dropped. "They found his blood on Vin's shirt, too."

Chris shut his eyes, assaulted by the memory of Vin's raspy voice. _"They did it right in front of me, and I . . . his blood . . ."_ He swallowed hard, his stomach churning. "Tell me what you found, J.D."

"At first, nothing," J.D. said. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "Then I, uh, dug a little deeper, and I . . . He's in hock up to his eyeballs, Chris. Credit cards maxed out and he's borrowed on all his investments. There's even a second mortgage on the townhouse."

"Damn." Chris gazed around the table. "We need to know why a guy with dual incomes and no kids is in that kind of debt. Now."

"Ezra's workin' on it," Buck replied. "That's why he's not here."

Chris blew out a long breath, abruptly furious with a dead man. "Son of a bitch."

"We can't jump to conclusions," Josiah cautioned. "Could be a perfectly reasonable explanation why--"

Chris's cell trilled and he held up a hand, cutting his friend off midstream. "Larabee."

"Chris, it's Nathan."

Something in the tone of the medic's voice had Chris sitting up straight, all senses on alert. "How's Vin?"

"Gone."

"Gone? Are you-- How the hell could he be gone?"

"'Cause he's Vin Tanner, that's how. Little shit must've slipped out right under my nose. When I checked on him an hour ago he was still out cold."

"You sure he left on his own power?" Chris waved off the others, who had gathered around his chair.

"Hell yeah, I'm sure. Peso's missing."

Sometimes an extensive knowledge of profanity came in handy. Chris swore a blue streak, calling Vin every name he could think of and a few he made up on the spot. "Stay put in case he comes back. I'm on my way." He snapped the phone shut. "I'm going to kill him."

"Vin took off?" Josiah asked.

"Apparently," Chris snapped, collecting his papers.

"Calm down, old dog," Buck said, amusement in the corners of his mouth. "The kid could hardly walk--I doubt he'll get very far."

Chris glared. "He's on Peso." 

"Wow." J.D. sounded both awed and troubled. "I can't believe he managed that with all those broken fingers."

"Yeah? Well I can't believe he's being such a jackass." Chris lobbed the empty can of Coke into the trash and headed for the door. "I want to hear from Ezra as soon as he gets in," he called over his shoulder.

He didn't wait for a reply.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I ought to kick your ass, broken ribs or no." Though still furious, Chris felt a surge of relief. He'd been reasonably sure Vin would head here, but this particular spot was halfway up the mountain and in his current condition he could easily have ended up at the bottom of a cliff.

Vin didn't turn, his only response a stiffening of his shoulders. Chris stepped onto the ledge and eased down beside him. Even bathed in the muted glow of the setting sun Vin looked washed out, his skin waxy and drawn.

"What in God's name possessed you to pull such a stupid stunt?" Chris continued, needing to fill the pained silence. "You can't control that mule of yours one handed and without a saddle."

"Got here, didn't I?" Vin's voice was rough with suppressed emotion and he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the distant peaks.

"Thanks to sheer cussedness and a hefty dose of luck."

Vin looked sharply at him, then quickly away. His throat worked for a moment before he managed to speak. "Can't say I feel too lucky right now."

Shit. 

Chris pulled in a deep breath. Vin was beating himself up over Sean, yet the agent might not have been all that he seemed. Though common sense told him to wait until all the facts were in, the urge hit hard to say something, anything, to relieve a little of Vin's pain.

"Look, Vin, I know--"

"I can't do this anymore, Chris. I'm turnin' in my resignation just as soon as I can get it typed up."

It was probably the last thing he ever expected to come out of Vin Tanner's mouth. Chris gaped at him for a long moment, finally blurting the first thing that popped into his reeling brain. "You can't mean that." When Vin just gave him a measured stare, his temper flared. "Well, I won't accept it."

"Then I'll give it to Travis," Vin replied without heat. "This ain't your decision to make."

"The past couple weeks have been a nightmare--hell, you're probably suffering from PTSD. Now's not the time--"

Vin scowled. "I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say you were. I just meant--"

"What if it had been you?"

Chris shut up, silenced by the raw edge of fear in Vin's question. 

Tears shimmered in Vin's eyes and he scrubbed impatiently at them with the back of his hand. "Don't you get it? I can't hardly stand my part in what happened to Sean. If it'd been you, or Buck, or . . ." He choked on the words and shook his head.

He should have seen this coming. Chris's stomach burned and a headache thumped dully over his left eye. Pain, grief, and guilt had Vin on the knife's edge, emotionally speaking. He knew he had to choose his next words carefully. 

"You keep focusing on the life lost--and I understand that, I do. But what about the life you saved?"

Vin curled his lip. "Which one would that be--my own?"

Chris refused to be baited. "Whatever they wanted from you was big--big enough to warrant the kidnapping and torture of one federal agent and the murder of another. You were protecting someone the only way you could. With your silence."

"Yer guessin', Cowboy." But a shadow of uncertainty crept into Vin's voice.

"Maybe so, but it's a guess based in fact. We know those goons were hired by someone, someone with enough power and money to keep from getting his own hands dirty. We know they were willing to go to any lengths necessary to get the information." Chris paused, tipping his head to see Vin's face. "And we know you were willing to go to any lengths to prevent them from getting it."

"Don't change the fact that it could as easily been you drivin' home with me that night."

"And if it had, I'd've expected no less from you. There's not a man on this team wouldn't willingly give up his life, Vin. To protect and serve. It's what we do. You honored that code in every sense of the word. I'm damn proud of you."

Vin's face was wide open with shock for an instant before crumpling. He ducked his head, shielding his eyes with his hand.

Chris let him have a moment before speaking. "Do me a favor. Don't make any life-changing decisions until you're feeling better and we've had a chance to close this case. Deal?"

Vin lowered his hand and looked at Chris through damp lashes. "Okay. But if I decide to leave, yer gonna have to let me go."

 _Over my dead body_ Chris thought grimly, but he gave a short nod. "Now can we please get you back to the ranch? My ass is going numb."

No snappy comeback. Vin just pushed slowly to his feet. When he swayed, Chris grabbed onto his arm.

"'M okay," Vin muttered, but his feet tangled up when he tried to move.

"Yeah. I can see that." Chris maintained his firm grip all the way back to where the horses were tethered. It was a measure of how bad Vin must be feeling that he never protested or tried to shrug free.

When he was sure Vin was okay on his own, Chris mounted Pony and held out his hand. "Let's go."

Vin stared at it, frowning. "Huh?"

"You're about three minutes from keeling over. There's no way I'm trusting that black devil to get you home."

"That's m'horse yer talkin' 'bout, Larabee." Vin's thickening drawl warned Chris his friend was past exhausted.

"I know. Now give me your hand."

Vin hesitated a moment longer before giving in with a sigh. Chris steadied his friend while he got a foot in the stirrup and swung up behind him. He grimaced at Vin's sharp intake of breath, imagining the agony such a movement would provoke from broken ribs.

"Ready?" Chris asked, looping Peso's reins over the saddle horn.

"Reckon so."

Within five minutes Vin's head was pressed heavily between Chris's shoulder blades and his chest rose and fell with the slow, even breaths of sleep. Chris rested a hand over the arm clasped around his waist. His back was going to be pure misery by the time they reached the ranch, but he found he really didn't care.

Vin was hurting, far deeper even than Chris had guessed, but he'd managed to talk his friend into a reprieve. Now Vin just needed to be reminded how indispensable he was to the team.

And Chris knew just the men for the job.


	11. Chapter 11

Nathan was standing on the deck when they rode up, his dark eyes flinty and his lips compressed to a thin line of disapproval. 

"Don't s'pose I could hang out in the barn 'til he goes home," muttered Vin, who'd roused when Pony's gait slowed.

Chris might've found it funny but for the bone-deep weariness underlying his friend's words. "It's okay, I got your back. Besides--you know Nathan's bark is worse than his bite."

"Bullshit."

With a snort, Chris guided Pony to the deck, steadying Vin as he slid to stand on wobbly legs. Nathan was immediately at the injured man's side despite the acid in his tone.

"What the hell did ya think you were doin', ridin' off alone in your condition? Do you realize a fall could send one a those busted ribs into a lung? You got no common sense when it comes to preservin' your own hide! Of all the stubborn, pigheaded jackasses--"

"Nathan." Chris saw what the healer didn't. Normally, Vin let his tirades roll off like water on a duck's back, knowing--as they all did--that his sharp tongue sprang from a mixture of frustration and deep empathy. 

Today, however, Vin was feeling far from normal.

Chris saw the healer's harsh words burrow under Vin's skin, pummeling an already battered spirit. "Nathan, enough."

"It obviously ain't enough, Chris, considering the damn fool stunt he--"

"Could ya hold off an' maybe light into me tomorrow?"

Nathan broke off, silenced by the soft question. 

Vin's eyes were too bright and a tremor ran through his raspy voice. "Reckon I deserve everythin' you got to say and more, but I just . . . This has been a real shitty day, and I don't think I can . . ." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "Tomorrow, okay?"

He limped slowly up the steps and into the house, leaving Nathan slack-jawed and bewildered. "What the . . . Vin?"

Chris leaned down, catching the healer's sleeve before he could follow. "Leave him be."

"Chris, you know I didn't mean nothin'."

"Yeah, and so does he. Just . . . give him a little space."

Nathan sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. "How 'bout I help you get the horses bedded down? Maybe by then he'll be ready to eat some dinner."

Tossing him Peso's reins, Chris grinned. "Well hell, I'm sure I will."

They unsaddled the horses, then rubbed down and fed them in companionable silence. By the time they returned to the house, the moon was high in the darkened sky. While Nathan went to see about their dinner, Chris moved quietly down the hallway. The door to the guest bedroom was shut, and no light shone from beneath. After a moment's hesitation, he headed to the kitchen.

"Leave Vin's in the pot," he said, accepting a bowl of stew and a frown from Nathan.

"He was out in that cold a long time. Did you check on him?"

"The man's got hair-trigger reflexes. I'm not going to risk disturbing what little rest he may be getting."

Nathan joined him at the table. "Buck called while you were out tracking Vin down. He filled me in on what we've got so far." When Chris didn't respond, he pressed. "Do you really think Donovan was a part of this?"

Chris reflexively glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. "It would explain a few things that haven't added up 'til now."

Nathan narrowed his eyes but modulated his own tone. "You haven't told Vin?" 

"No. And I don't intend to until we've got something more concrete."

"He's hurtin' bad, Chris. If Donovan was dirty it could go a long way toward easin' his guilt."

"And open old wounds."

"What does that mean?"

Chris rubbed the back of his neck, kneading tight muscles. "You know what things were like for Vin growing up. His life was nothing but a string of betrayals before he joined the team--it's why he took so long to let his guard down around us."

With a grimace, Nathan nodded. "If you ask me, he still gets his doubts now and then."

"You don't shrug off a lifetime of conditioning in a few months--or even years. But slowly and surely I think it's been sinking in: trusting someone doesn't have to end up with him screwing you over."

He could see the moment Nathan understood. The healer's eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, hell. Sean."

"They taught those seminars on weapon maintenance together," Chris said savagely. "Played basketball some nights after work. Donovan even helped out with the kids at the community center a few times."

"They were friends."

"Yeah, well . . . Vin thought so. If that little bastard winds up destroying what we've taken over a year to build . . ." Chris shoved aside his bowl, no longer hungry. 

The chirp of his cell phone cut off any reply Nathan might have made. Chris fished it from his pocket, scowling when he saw Ezra's number on the display.

"It's about time you checked in. Nice to know you haven't forgotten me."

A brief silence in which Chris could practically see Ezra's raised eyebrow was followed by his honeyed drawl. "It's a pleasure to hear your voice as well, Mr. Larabee."

"You missed the afternoon briefing."

"Yes. I was regrettably detained."

"I hope you plan on making an appearance soon."

"I'm currently seated in my car in your driveway. Will that suffice?"

The man could get under his skin like no one he'd ever met. Chris rolled his eyes and stood. "Well, get your ass in here."

"Is Mr. Tanner with you?"

Chris peered out the front window. Sure enough, Ezra's Jag was in the driveway and he could just make out the shadowy form of its occupant in the glow from the porch light. "He's down the hall, sleeping. Why?"

Another hesitation, and when Ezra spoke his voice was terse. "I think perhaps this conversation might best be limited to the two of us, for now."

Damn.

"I'll be right out." Chris snapped the phone shut and pulled his jacket off the peg by the door. "Ezra's got news," he said to Nathan's questioning look.

"Can't be good if he's passin' up dinner and a shot of that scotch of yours he favors."

"Yeah."

Chris turned up his collar against the cold as he stepped onto the porch. The temperature had dropped and a chill breeze ruffled his hair. As he approached, Ezra got out of the car, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

"Mr. Larabee."

"Ezra." Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the car beside his agent. "Give it to me straight. All of it."

"It seems our Agent Donovan had a rather nasty monkey on his back."

"Drugs?"

Ezra shook his head. "Gambling."

"Go on."

"Evidently the man enjoyed a variety of sports--so long as wagering was included. Horses, football, basketball. Then there were the trips he made to the local establishment run by our Native American brothers. Quite the poker player was our Mr. Donovan."

"Which explains how he came to be up to his neck in debt."

"More like over his head. The figure I heard was in the neighborhood of five hundred thousand."

Chris gave a low whistle. "Who held his markers?"

"Frank Malone."

"Big Daddy Malone? The guy who's got half of Denver in his pocket?"

"That would be the one."

"Shit. Frank Malone doesn't dick around. That kind of debt is as good as a death sentence."

"Indeed. You may recall Mr. Donovan's . . . mishap . . . while driving to work about a month ago?"

"You mean when he skidded on the ice and . . ." Chris trailed off, his jaw clenched. "It wasn't an accident. It was a warning."

"Or more accurately, a form of persuasion. Rumor has it that Malone had proposed a means for Mr. Donovan to settle his debt once and for all."

Chris closed his eyes. "Sell out Vin."

"Precisely."

"'Cept it don't make no sense."

Chris and Ezra snapped upright at the quiet voice. A moment later Vin stepped from the shadow of a large fir tree, a hand pressed to his ribs. Wearing only a flannel shirt, he shivered, his face pale and blank.

"Damn it, Vin! Can't you ever stay put?" Chris strode quickly to his friend.

"I'm sick of you coddlin' me, Larabee." Vin shoved away Chris's hand. "I got the right to hear this."

"I never said you didn't. I'm just trying to . . ." Chris drew a hand over his face. "Hell."

The front door opened and Nathan's worried face appeared. "Chris, I can't find-- Damn it, Tanner, that's twice in one day!"

"And I don't need no babysitter," Vin snapped. "I been takin' care of myself for years without any of you."

"He raises a valid point," Ezra said.

"Enough! Everybody inside the house." Chris stabbed a finger at Vin. "That means you, too, before you fall over."

"Ain't gonna fall over."

But by the time they reached the den, Vin was leaning heavily into Chris's supportive shoulder, his body rigid with discomfort.

"Headache?" Chris asked quietly as he settled his friend on the couch.

Vin winced in confirmation. "But I'm not takin' any of that shit yet. I want to hear what Ezra's got to say." 

"Yeah, I got that." Chris backed off to sit by his feet. "How the hell did you know he was here anyway?"

"Saw the headlights; heard the engine. When I realized he wasn't comin' in, figured I best go out."

"Speakin' of which, how'd you get past me anyhow?" Nathan asked, drawing his brows together and folding his arms.

"Window."

"You climbed out the window? Of all the harebrained, reckless, foolhardy--"

"Nathan." Chris pinned the healer with a glare until he sat down, then looked at Vin. "How much did you hear?"

"Everythin'--the gamblin', the debts, Malone. But it don't make no sense, Chris. What would Big Daddy Malone want from me? I've never even met the man."

"That, I was unable to ascertain," Ezra said, his tone gentle. "But I checked the source of this information very carefully. He's a low level employee of Mr. Malone, and the hard evidence backs his story."

"But I heard Sean _screamin'_." Vin pressed the heel of his good hand to his temple, eyes slipping shut as he tightened his fingers in his hair. "He sounded . . ." He fixed reddened eyes on Chris's face. "I _heard_ him."

Dear God he didn't want to be saying this. Chris rested a hand on Vin's ankle. "We got the autopsy report, pard. Other than the gunshot and a few bruises, Sean had barely a mark on him. Considering what they did to you . . ."

He watched the words hit Vin, stealing something bright and vital. His friend's throat worked for a moment before he looked away, pushing himself carefully upright.

"Head feels fit to burst. Reckon I should lay down for a bit."

"Eatin' something might help." Nathan kept it a suggestion, his tone mild.

Vin flashed him a weak smile that never reached his eyes. "Maybe later."

Ezra leaned forward. "Vin, I deeply regret--"

"Ain't your doin', Ez. I know better than to shoot the messenger." He waved a hand. "Y'all can stop lookin' at me that way. I'm fine."

They watched in silence as he shuffled out of the room. When the bedroom door clicked shut, Ezra released a long breath.

"If Mr. Donovan were here right now I believe I could cheerfully kill him myself."

"You'd have to get in line." Chris walked to the bar. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I could use a drink."

Nathan stood and joined him. "This time, I'm inclined to agree with you."

"Ezra?"

To Chris's surprise, the conman hesitated. "It's been a long day, Mr. Larabee, and frankly I'm not feeling very social."

"Nothing social about it." Chris propped his palms on the bar and looked at each of them. "We're going to figure out how to bring down Frank Malone."

Ezra smiled. "Then I guess I am feeling rather thirsty after all."


	12. Chapter 12

"Yer hoverin', Larabee. What'd I tell you about hoverin'?"

The irritated drawl lifted Josiah's head from the report he was studying. Vin, his face twisted with discomfort and irritation, limped slowly into view. Chris walked a step behind, trying to look unconcerned and failing. Miserably.

"I'm not hovering. But if I was, it might be because you look like you could keel over any minute," Chris snapped.

"You try walkin' on these feet." Vin winced, half-stumbling a step before continuing onward.

Josiah watched Chris make an abortive grab for their friend's elbow before catching himself, his jaw clenched.

"Mornin', Vin. Chris." Josiah leaned back, folding his hands over his belly as he cocked an eyebrow at Tanner. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"He's not staying long."

Vin narrowed his eyes at Chris's proclamation and a silent argument crackled in the air between them as they glared at each other.

"Hey! Vin!" J.D.'s delighted greeting broke the tension. Fresh from the break room with donut in hand, he grinned at his friend, oblivious to what he'd interrupted. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, J.D." Vin's irritation wilted under all that enthusiasm. "Just passin' through." 

"J.D., why don't you see Vin gets settled on my couch, maybe get him some juice," Chris said.

Vin's voice dropped, a warning. "Chris."

"We had a deal, Cowboy."

Drawing his eyebrows together, Vin opened his mouth. But J.D. got there first. "C'mon, Vin. You want apple or orange?"

After a moment's hesitation, a slow smile spread across Vin's face. "Coffee. Black." With a sideways smirk at Chris he turned and followed J.D. 

"Smartass," Chris muttered, leaning one hip on Josiah's desk.

Josiah heard clearly the mixture of exasperation, amusement, and lingering worry in his boss's voice. "You're both looking a bit ragged around the edges.

With a snort, Chris shook his head. "I haven't been this sleep deprived since Adam was born, and I'm getting a helluva lot more than Vin is."

"So . . . why is he here?"

"Because he's a stubborn pain in the ass." When Josiah just raised an eyebrow, Chris heaved a sigh. "Donovan's wife is coming in at ten. Once Vin found out, he insisted on being present."

"I have a feeling whatever she has to say won't be easy for him to hear."

"Which is exactly why I didn't want him to be a part of this. But short of having Nathan sedate the shit out of him, he didn't leave me much choice."

"He can be a bit . . . hardheaded."

"You noticed."

Josiah's lips curved, but he quickly sobered. "Hasn't been much he can control in his life lately. That doesn't sit well with a man like Vin."

Chris ran a hand through his hair and cupped the back of his neck. "I hear what you're saying. I just . . . I've had my fill of watching him hurt and not being able to do a damn thing about it."

The elevator doors rumbled open and an auburn-haired young woman stepped off, nervously darting her gaze around the area as she clutched her purse tightly in both hands.

"That's her," Chris murmured, standing.

"God be with you, brother."

"That'd be a nice change." Chris pasted on a smile and extended his hand. "Mrs. Donovan? I'm Chris Larabee."

"Please, call me Jean." Her answering smile was as weak as his, but she returned the handshake with firm pressure.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Sean was--" The words caught in Chris's throat and he fought down a surge of anger. "We're all very saddened by what's happened. I know this is a difficult time, and I really appreciate you coming in today."

A film of tears blurred her blue eyes but she tipped up her chin. "Thank you. I . . . I want to do whatever I can to help."

"This way."

Chris ushered her toward his office with a hand to the middle of her back, studying her from the corner of his eye. She was petite, barely reaching his shoulder, with a fine-boned elegance that lent her an elfish quality. Her pale face and reddened eyes betrayed her pain, but she moved with a determined confidence he couldn't help admiring.

Vin was standing at the window, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He turned as they entered, his eyes wide and defenseless in his pinched face. "Jeannie."

"Vin." Whatever iron control she'd held over her emotions seemed to shatter, and she burst into tears. 

His expression twisted with grief and some darker emotion, Vin set the cup on Chris's desk and wrapped her in his arms, holding her as she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Jeannie. So, so sorry."

When she tightened her grip, he gasped and flinched. Jean pulled back as if burned, looking him up and down as she brushed the tears aside. "My God, Vin, you look terrible. Sit down."

He must have been feeling as bad as he looked; Vin sat on the couch, drawing her down beside him. Chris positioned his desk chair opposite them.

Jean gripped Vin's good hand, gently touching the broken one. "Are you all right? Are you in pain?"

"I'm okay. Looks worse than it is." Vin shot Chris a warning look. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, you know. I have my ups and downs." She slipped a tissue from her purse and blotted her eyes. "I'm so glad you're okay. Sean . . ." Her voice quavered. "Sean would've wanted that."

Her innocent declaration stole Chris's breath. He watched Vin's face crumple, his throat work as he fought back tears. Suddenly he wished he'd asked Nathan for that sedative. The last thing Vin needed right now was to listen to Sean's grieving--and clueless--widow.

"I'm sorry," Jean said, squeezing Vin's hand. "I didn't mean to make this any harder for you than it already is."

 _Lady, you don't know the half of it,_ Chris thought grimly. He linked gazes with Vin, inwardly wincing at the raw pain in his friend's eyes. Vin gave him the barest hint of a nod, then turned his attention back to Jean.

"Jeannie, we've got to ask you some questions, and some are gonna sound kinda personal. But there's a reason for them, and it's real important you tell us everythin' you can."

She wrinkled her forehead. "Okay."

Chris leaned closer, his elbows braced on his knees. "Jean, how long had you and Sean been married?"

"Almost three years."

"So he was already working for the Bureau?"

"Just barely. He'd only been on the job a couple months."

"It's not an easy thing, being the wife of a federal agent."

"Maybe not, but I saw how Sean loved it--it was all he ever wanted to be." She smiled, her lips trembling. "I knew what I was signing on for."

"Had Sean been under any extra pressure lately?"

"Pressure?"

With a slight hesitation, Chris chose his next words carefully. "Had you noticed anything . . . different about his behavior recently?"

Jean slipped her hand from Vin's and looked away. "I don't know what you mean."

Angling his head, Vin forced her to meet his eyes. "I think maybe you do."

She bit her lip. "It was nothing, really. He was just . . . a little on edge, that's all." 

Vin glanced at Chris, who motioned him to continue. "About anythin' in particular?"

"He didn't want to tell me, but I overheard a few phone conversations. He was behind in paying the bills." 

"Money been tight?"

"Sean handled the finances--I've never been very good with numbers. When I pressed, he admitted he'd made some bad investments. And then there was the accident with the car . . ." Frowning, she looked from Vin to Chris. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Her question hung in awkward silence for a long moment.

Vin rubbed his head just above the bandage. "Jeannie, I hate to have to tell you this, but . . . there was more botherin' Sean than a few unpaid bills. He'd gotten himself into a world of trouble."

She was shaking her head almost before he finished speaking. "No, it was just a little setback, Vin. He promised me he had things under control."

"Then he lied. He had a gamblin' problem, and it had to've been goin' on for a while. He owed some very bad people a helluva lot of money." As he was speaking, he reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

"That's impossible. I'm his wife--don't you think I'd know if he were gambling away our money?" Tears filled her eyes, but her voice turned icy. "Why would you say something like that? He was a good man. You're supposed to be his friend."

Chris saw Vin's breath hitch, watched him struggle for words that wouldn't come, and something inside him bubbled up and spilled over. "You want to talk friendship? Lady, your husband _sold_ Vin to save his own neck."

"Chris, don't."

Chris regretted the words the moment they left his lips, the more so for Vin's soft rebuke. But it was too late. 

Jean stared at him, her eyes huge. "What do you mean?" She turned to Vin, catching hold of his sleeve. "Vin? What does . . . ? Is he saying the kidnapping . . . That it was _Sean's_ fault?"

Vin just closed his eyes, looking as wrung out at Chris had ever seen him.

"I'm saying Sean got in way over his head," Chris said, gentling his voice as much for Vin's sake as Jean's. "Frank Malone--the guy holding Sean's markers--is very powerful. He runs half the organized crime in this city. And he doesn't take no for an answer."

"The phone calls. The man who showed up at our door," Jean murmured to herself, looking ill. "I just assumed it was a collection agency." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "What did you mean when you said Sean sold Vin?"

Chris glanced at his friend, but Vin just stared down at his folded hands. "Malone wants classified information from Vin," he said, steeling himself against the hurt written in her pale face. "That's why he had him abducted. Sean let Malone's men know when and where they could make the grab. Not only did he set Vin up, he played along, letting Vin think they were both being abducted, when in reality Sean was in on it from the start. In return, Malone was supposed to cancel his debt."

Jean was weeping by the time he finished. "He'd been so jumpy and upset," she said between little gasps for breath. "Then, a few weeks ago, he got really calm. He said I could stop worrying. That he'd figured out a way to fix everything." She stretched out a trembling hand to Vin's cheek. "Oh god, Vin. I'm so . . . I never . . ."

Vin flinched at the touch, but recovered quickly. Lacing their fingers, he gave a squeeze, then let go. "I know."

To allow them both a moment to regroup, Chris made a run to the water cooler. When he returned, he surreptitiously handed Vin a painkiller along with the little paper cup. For once his friend didn't argue.

"I don't know what to say," Jean said, still sniffling as she sipped from her own cup. 

"You don't have to say anythin'," Vin replied. "None of this is your doin'."

"But there may be a way you can help," Chris said, reclaiming his seat. "The man who called on the phone and came to your house--did you ever hear his name?"

Jean frowned. "No." She looked apologetically at Chris. "Sean started to use a name once, but the guy cut him off."

"How 'bout his face?" Vin asked. "If you saw his picture would you recognize him?"

"Maybe." She squared her shoulders and nodded firmly. "Yes, I think I would. You think maybe it was this Malone person?"

Chris shook his head. "Frank Malone wouldn't soil his hands with something as mundane as collecting on a debt. He's got hired goons for that. But it's a good bet whoever was leaning on Sean for the money also offered him the deal."

Vin started to rise. "I'll see she gets set up to look at mug shots."

On his feet in an instant, Chris stopped Vin with a gentle hand to the chest. " _I'll_ set her up," he said, pitching his voice for his friend's ears only. "You stay put and let that painkiller kick in."

"Aw, hell, Chris, I can--"

"We had a deal, remember?"

Vin huffed his annoyance, but relented, turning to Jean. "Chris'll take you downstairs where you can look at some pictures of past offenders. Odds are the guy's got a record."

"I'll do my best." Jean looked intently into his eyes, her own glistening. "You have to believe that Sean wouldn't have done this unless he had no other choice. You were his friend, Vin."

Vin swallowed hard, his voice rough with doubt. "I thought I was. But, Jeannie--"

"I'm pregnant."

Chris's breath caught in his chest and Vin went very still as they both stared at her. Jean blotted her eyes, trying to smile. "I found out a few weeks ago, just before . . . The day after I told Sean, he came to me and told me to stop worrying. That he'd found a way to solve all our financial problems." She shook her head with a ragged little laugh that sounded more like a sob. "I thought he meant he'd taken out a loan--"

Her voice broke and then she was crying in earnest, her face buried in the crook of Vin's neck as he rocked her gently. "It's okay, Jeannie," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. "We're gonna be okay."

Chris could only watch them, his hands clenched into fists and his gut churning with helplessness. After a moment he slipped quietly from the room and shut the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Why was it the magazines in waiting rooms were always at least a year old? Buck tossed aside a dog-eared copy of _Men's Health_ and wandered over to the nurses' station, where he gave the sweet young thing behind the counter his most charming smile.

"Well, hey there, Cyndi. You're lookin' mighty pretty today."

She glanced up from the paperwork she was studying. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wilmington?"

"Darlin', you're doin' somethin' for me just by brightenin' up the scenery." He leaned in close. "Bet you'd look even finer by candlelight. What would you say to a romantic dinner for two?"

Though she returned her gaze to the chart, her lips twitched in a barely repressed smile. "I'd say I'm on duty."

"And I can see you do your job _very_ well. But you must get time off, right? For all that good behavior?"

Cyndi was openly grinning now, her cheeks dimpling. "Now and then."

"So how 'bout a little food, a little wine--maybe some dancin'. Say . . . later tonight?"

"Well . . . I'd have to check my schedule."

Before Buck could press his advantage, Dr. Lorenzo stepped out of the exam room. Buck caught a quick glimpse of Vin gingerly easing into his shirt before the physician pulled the door shut behind him. He looked over at Buck, narrowing his eyes.

"A word please, Mr. Wilmington."

"Hold that thought," Buck said to Cyndi, then followed Lorenzo over to the row of chairs.

"I have one or two questions for you," Lorenzo said as they both took seats.

"Sure, doc. Fire away."

"What in the hell have you been doing to my patient?"

Buck dropped his jaw and gaped. "Huh?"

"His weight is down, his blood pressure's up, and he generally looks like crap--or hadn't you noticed?"

"'Course I noticed. It ain't exactly a surprise, considerin' he doesn't eat enough to keep a fly alive and hasn't been sleepin' much, either."

It was Lorenzo's turn to stare at Buck. "And did it ever cross your mind to, oh, I don't know, _do_ something about it?"

"Now wait just a cotton-pickin' minute." Buck stabbed a finger at Lorenzo's chest. "In case you hadn't noticed, that boy's got a head made of granite, not to mention a stubborn streak a mile wide. Hell yeah, we've tried to do somethin' about it! But right about now it's takin' all six of us just to help him hold it together."

Lorenzo sagged back in the chair, some of the fire leaving his eyes. "Look, I just expected more progress in Vin's physical recovery. In some ways he's actually lost ground." He glanced at the chart in his hands. "You said he's not sleeping?"

"According to Chris--Agent Larabee--the nightmares are still real bad. Vin wakes up four, five times a night."

Lorenzo tightened his lips to a thin line. "And that's why I gave him the prescription for sleeping pills."

"Except the pills don't stop the dreams, they just make it so Vin can't wake up from 'em. Hell, if I were in his shoes, I wouldn't be itchin' to take 'em either."

With a sharp nod Lorenzo pulled out a prescription pad. "I can’t stop the dreams, but I can give him something stronger that will put him further under so he won’t remember them when he wakes up." He scribbled something and handed the top sheet to Buck. "This is a temporary fix. Pills are no substitution for real sleep. And he's got to regain some of that weight. But I'll be honest with you--what I just heard from him was a whole lot of anger and not much cooperation."

Buck tucked the prescription in his pocket with a sigh. "I hear ya, doc. It's been a rough week for the kid. We found our missing agent, but he wasn't as lucky as Vin."

"Dead?"

Buck nodded. "Vin's takin' it real hard."

"He needs to talk to someone, Mr. Wilmington, and I don't mean a bull session with the six musketeers. I've given him the number of a trusted colleague. Make sure he uses it."

The exam room door opened and Vin emerged, frowning when he saw Buck and Lorenzo with their heads together. "You two havin' a party and I wasn't invited?" The flippant words contained an underlying edge.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid your dance card's going to be pretty empty until you stop looking like shit." Lorenzo stood, tucking the chart against his chest. "Bring him back in a week," he said to Buck. And to Vin, "Remember what I told you."

"How could I forget? You sound like a broken record."

"Hey." Buck laid a hand on Vin's arm, unsettled by the brittle impatience. "Seems to me you were the one who pointed out the doc here is just doin' his job."

"Yeah, well, everybody's got a real good reason for tellin' me what to do. Don't mean I gotta like it." Vin fumbled with the zipper on his coat, then gave up with a huff of frustration. "I'll wait for you at the car."

"Oh, no you won't! You heard what Chris said. For all we know you could still be in danger."

"Hell, at this point I'd risk a little danger if it buys me a minute to myself. Besides, I'm sure y'all aren't done decidin' what's best for me."

"Vin. Vin, you get your ass back here!" Buck watched, incredulous, as his friend stalked out the door. He turned to Lorenzo, gesturing as he fumbled for words. "I, uh, better . . . He's not exactly . . . I gotta go."

"A week," Lorenzo, called. "If he's not looking better I'll kick his ass myself."

"I'll tell him." Buck was halfway to the car before he realized he'd never gotten Cyndi's phone number.

Cursing under his breath, he slid behind the wheel and slammed his door. Turning so his arm was braced across the seatback, he glared at Vin. "Who pissed in your cornflakes? You acted like a spoiled brat back there, and that ain't like you."

Vin stared out the windshield, refusing to meet his eyes.

With a grunt of impatience, Buck shook his head. "Lorenzo is just tryin' to get you well. All of us--we just want to see you back to normal."

To his astonishment Vin barked a sharp laugh. "Normal? Y'all are gonna have a long wait."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it." Vin clenched his jaw, his eyes bright. "I just want to go home, to my place, my stuff. Is that too damn much to ask?"

The bitter, world-weary words pierced Buck's heart. "You know I can't do that, Junior." He forced a smile. "Hey. How 'bout we grab a late lunch at that deli you're so fond of before I take you back to the ranch?"

Vin slumped down in his seat, arms folded and face turned toward the window. "Do whatever you want, Buck. I don't really give a shit." He deliberately closed his eyes, cutting off further communication.

His chest tight with frustration, Buck started the truck and headed for the highway. Suddenly he wasn't too hungry either.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chris eased the door shut and paused, loosening his tie. Except for the soft tick of the wall clock, the house was silent. He wandered through the kitchen, dark except for the light over the stove, and glanced into the empty den before heading toward the bedrooms. 

The door to the guestroom was slightly ajar, and he cautiously peered through the opening. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the bed and Vin, sprawled face down, sleeping hard. Fully dressed, he appeared to have crawled onto the mattress and collapsed, never moving a muscle since. Chris listened to the steady whisper of his breath for several minutes before backing quietly down the hallway.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement on the deck. Buck was leaning on the railing, nursing a bottle of beer as he watched the horses in the corral. When Chris joined him, he gave a slanted grin.

"You're lookin' mighty rough around the edges, ol' son. Travis givin' you a hard time?"

"Travis may be a pain in the ass, but he's not the one keeping me up at night--or fueling this fire in my gut." Chris jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "He been sleeping long?"

"Since we got back from the doc. Three, maybe four hours."

"What did Lorenzo have to say?"

"Considerin' what Vin looks like right about now, what do you think he had to say?" When Chris raised an eyebrow at the acid tone, Buck's shoulders curled. "Sorry."

"I take it the doc gave you a rough time?"

Buck snorted. "Lorenzo was a cake walk. Vin, on the other hand, acted like a little shit."

"Vin?"

"He sassed the doc, blew me off when I told him not to go out to the truck alone, and damn it, he ruined my chance to score a date with the woman of my dreams."

"Hell, Buck, anything in a skirt is the woman of your dreams."

"I'm serious, Chris. I don't know what bug crawled up that boy's ass, but I--"

"I'm pretty sure I do." Chris watched Peso do his best to annoy Pony, not really seeing the horses. "Did Lorenzo say anything I should know?"

"'Bout what you'd expect. Kid needs to sleep, to eat. He gave him some stronger sleeping pills that should take care of the nightmares. The bottle's on the counter by the sink."

Chris chewed the inside of his cheek. He hated the thought of heavier drugs almost as much as he knew Vin would, but couldn't see an alternative. "Is that why he crashed so hard?"

Buck shook his head. "Nope. He was runnin' on fumes by the time we made it through the door. Stumbled into the bedroom and was out like a light." He huffed. "Guess bein' a pain in the ass wears you out." But his voice held more affection than irritation.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence as Buck drank his beer. He followed the final swallow with a satisfied belch and a slap to Chris's back. "Think I'll head on home."

"You sure? There's lasagna in the freezer if you're interested."

"Nah. J.D.'s havin' dinner with Casey so I'll have the place to myself. I may not have the lovely Cyndi's number, but I always got backup."

"Now why does that not surprise me?"

After Buck had climbed into his truck and driven away, Chris locked up and turned off the porch light. Walking into the kitchen, he fingered the new prescription bottle, holding it up to the light and staring at the bright pink caplets. Finally setting it aside, he pulled the foil pan of lasagna from the freezer and popped it into the oven.

Cooking was good, occupying his hands and providing a welcome distraction from his troubled thoughts. He chopped lots of fresh vegetables for the kind of garbage salad Vin adored, sliced and buttered two wedges of garlic bread. When the lasagna was hot and bubbling, he set it atop the stove to cool and went to rouse Vin.

With a gentle push from his fingertips, he nudged the door open. To his surprise, Vin was no longer sleeping. His back to the headboard and his injured hand propped on one upraised knee, he was staring blankly into the darkness. As Chris moved slowly into the room, he took in the sweat-damp hair and rapid rise and fall of his friend's chest. Easing onto the edge of the mattress, he waited for Vin to speak or look at him. When several minutes passed without either, he sighed.

"Dinner's ready. You should eat."

"Not hungry."

"I made a salad. And there's garlic bread."

Vin drew his brows together, mouth turning down in a scowl as he looked at Chris for the first time. "Did you suddenly go deaf, Larabee? I said I ain't hungry."

So Buck wasn't exaggerating. Chris returned the glare. "Well frankly, Vin, I don't give a rat's ass whether you're hungry. Doc said you need to start eating, and I'm damn well going to make sure you do."

His face flushed with anger, Vin leaned in close. "No one makes me do anything. So unless you got handcuffs and a few of the boys with you, I'd say you're outta luck."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem? My problem is _you_ \--all of you." He gestured wildly, his jaw clenched. "Tellin' me what to do, what to think, what to feel, who to talk to . . . I don't need you pokin' your nose in my business, tryin' to _help_. I've taken care of myself my whole life, and you know what? It's a damn sight better that way."

Now Chris could hear it, the open wound beneath Vin's tirade. "This isn't about me, or the boys, or even Dr. Lorenzo." He calmly regarded his friend. "Say it, Vin."

"Fuck you." Vin slid off the bed and flicked on the light. He tugged open the bureau drawer.

"Not exactly what I had in mind." He watched Vin pull out a stack of tee shirts. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Goin' home. I've had more than enough of this shit."

"Like hell." Chris rounded the bed and slammed the drawer, placing his body in front of it.

Vin curled his fingers into a fist. "Get outta my way."

"Or what? You're gonna hit me? Who are you really mad at?" When Vin tried to move around him, he blocked him again. "Say it."

"Get the hell outta my way!"

"You can pull this 'I don't need anybody' crap all you want, I'm not buying it. Only one person screwed you over, and it wasn't the boys or me. Why won't you just fuckin' admit it's Sean you're pissed at?"

"Because I can't!" 

Silence punctuated Vin's anguished howl. They stared at each other, chests heaving, until Vin shuffled over and folded onto the side of the bed, head cradled in his uninjured hand. Chris sat down beside his friend, absorbing the fine tremors racing through the hunched form.

"I _trusted_ him," Vin said, his voice muffled, "and he set me up, handed me over to those bastards and made me think . . . And I can't even . . . I want to hate the sonuvabitch, I want it so bad, but--"

"It's hard to hate a man who was trying to protect his wife and unborn child." 

Vin's hunched shoulders confirmed his words. 

"Does it help to know that if the bastard walked through the door right now I'd probably take him apart him with my bare hands? Or that there'd be five men in line right behind me?"

It startled a weak puff of laughter and lifted Vin's head, though it didn't drive the shadows from his eyes.

"Sean screwed up," Chris continued, holding Vin's gaze. "He made a boatload of stupid mistakes. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he chose to betray a friend rather than admit he was in too deep and ask for help. I'm sorry for Jean, and for that baby. But don't cheat yourself, Cowboy. You've got a right to be madder than hell."

Vin was quiet, chin tucked to his chest as he picked at his bandaged fingers. Chris waited him out, encouraged by the release of tension when Vin stopped holding himself stiffly upright and leaned comfortably into his side.

"Did Jeannie have any luck with the mug books?"

"Yeah. She did." Chris didn't try to mask the smug satisfaction in his voice, and Vin immediately picked up on it.

"Who?"

"Benito Aguilar."

Vin's head snapped around. "Benny? I thought he was just a third-rate bookie."

"Evidently he's moved up through the ranks. Malone's had him overseeing a chunk of the illegal gambling he's got going. Including the action from Sharkey's Pub." Chris studied Vin's face, saw the connection made.

"Wait a minute. Sharkey's . . . Didn't I just see somethin' in the news about the cops bustin' that place?"

"Yep. Nailed them for gambling, drugs, and prostitution. A triple play." Chris grinned. "Guess who's sitting in lock-up right now, ripe for a deal?"

"You really think you can get him to talk?"

"It's his only chance to avoid a long prison stretch. I'm guessing he'll be receptive. Josiah and Ezra are going to talk to him first thing in the morning."

"Good. That's good. Maybe he'll actually be able to tell us why Big Daddy Malone is suddenly so all-fired interested in me." Vin knuckled the skin above his right eye and cleared his throat. "I, uh . . . I was a real shit to Buck and the doc."

"Really? He never mentioned it."

Vin chuffed. "Yer a lousy liar."

"You can apologize next time you see him, but I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Buck's had plenty of experience as a punching bag. He'll be sure you make it up to him."

"I guess I got that comin'."

Chris stood and faced him. "Now are you gonna come eat some of that salad and bread? Or do I need to call the boys?"

"Reckon I'll spare you the trouble." Vin rose from the bed and followed him to the door. "Think the doc will be as forgivin' as Buck?"

With a snort, Chris shook his head. "You better hope so. Considering it's Lorenzo we're talking about, I'm guessing paybacks really would be a bitch." 

Vin sighed. "Was afraid you were gonna say that."


	14. Chapter 14

Chris slammed the gearshift into park but didn't shut off the engine. Hands locked on the steering wheel, he turned a glare on the man seated beside him. "This is a bad idea."

With a huff of exasperation, Vin reached over and twisted the key. "Cuttin' me outta this would be a bad idea," he said, his raspy voice loud in the sudden silence. When Chris still looked unconvinced, he rolled his eyes. "I'm _fine_."

"Right. That's why Buck's got Lorenzo's teeth marks in his ass."

"We had a deal."

Only Vin would have the balls to throw his own words back at him. "I must've been out of my mind. Look, Vin--"

"Didn't I take the damn pill last night?"

"One night's sleep doesn't cure more than a week of sleep deprivation."

"And didn't I eat what you set in front of me?"

"It was a sandwich. You didn't exactly gain ten pounds." When Vin just looked at him, Chris sighed. "Yes."

"Way I see it, I've held up my end of the bargain. Now we can sit here and argue 'til the cows come home. But I'm still gonna be in that room hearin' what Benny has to say."

"Wish to hell I'd never taken that call from Josiah with you in the room." But Chris got out of the truck.

Vin awkwardly eased out his door until he was standing beside the vehicle, pausing for a moment with his hand braced on the roof and his face twisted in a grimace. "Ain't like I didn't know they were seein' Benny this morning." He moved around the hood to join Chris. "You really think you could've kept me from hearin' that he'd agreed to a deal?"

"I'd have given it my best shot," Chris muttered.

"You know, I can still remember my mother, Larabee, and you don't look anythin' like her."

"Lord, you're a pain in the ass."

"Back atcha."

Being federal agents spared them a little of the red tape involved in talking to a prisoner, but by the time they met up with Ezra and Josiah in the interrogation room, Vin couldn't disguise his eagerness to sink into a chair. Still, he waved off their concern.

"Before you ask, I'm fine," he said, dividing a warning scowl between the three of them. "And I'd appreciate it if y'all didn't look at me like that when Benny's in the room."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Tanner. It's a pleasure to see you." Ezra took the seat to Vin's left, adjusting his suit jacket and smoothing his tie.

"Likewise, brother." Josiah sat beside Ezra, the barest hint of a smile curving his lips.

Vin blinked, then relaxed his shoulders. "Thanks. It's good to be seen." He narrowed his eyes at Chris. "If Larabee had his way I'd be locked up at the ranch with Nathan pourin' horse piss down my throat."

"I could still take you back," Chris retorted, amused in spite of himself when Vin flipped him the bird. He switched back to business. "Before he gets here--are you two sure Benny really knows why Malone had Vin abducted? That he's not just stringing you along to weasel out of doing hard time?"

Ezra exchanged a long look with Josiah before answering. "While Josiah was speaking with you on the phone, Mr. Aguilar and I had our own little chat. I suggested to him that offering a bit of information as collateral might go a long way toward legitimizing his claims and thus solidifying a mutually beneficial arrangement with us."

Vin huffed and shook his head. "Lord, Ez, it don't take all them ten-dollar words to say you told him to put up or shut up."

"Some of us actually enjoy employing a more extensive vocabulary," Ezra drawled. "Be that as it may, our would-be informant delivered."

Motioning for him to continue, Chris growled, "Go ahead."

"He knew all the details," Josiah said, his gaze passing over Vin before coming to rest on Chris. "Where they took Vin. The beatings. Drugs." He pressed his clasped hands under his chin. "Even where they dumped Sean's body."

Before Chris could respond, the door opened and a guard escorted a short, stocky Hispanic man into the room, manhandling him into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"Lose the cuffs," Chris said. 

The guard pulled out the key, but hesitated. "You sure?"

Chris gave Aguilar a wolfish grin. "If he's stupid enough to try something, any one of us will be happy to show him the error of his ways."

With a shrug the handcuffs were removed and the guard headed for the door. "I'll be outside. Just call when you're done."

Silence. Aguilar shuffled his feet, darting glances at the four men watching him from across the table. 

Chris pulled out a chair and sat beside Vin. He folded his arms across his chest and inclined his head. "We're listening."

Aguilar's lips parted and he drew his brows together. "What? You think I'm gonna--I ain't givin' you nuthin', man. Not until I see what I'm gonna get. In writing."

Silence again, until Josiah cleared his throat. "Now, Benny, something's telling me maybe Ezra and I didn't make ourselves clear."

"Or the fool has a death wish," Ezra murmured.

Like a snake uncoiling in preparation to strike, Chris unfolded his arms and leaned across the table. "You want a deal?" he asked, his voice a low purr. "Listen carefully. You're going to tell me everything you know about what Malone wanted from Agent Tanner. If I like what I hear, I might put in a good word with the judge when the time comes--"

" _Might_? Fuck you! You think I'm stupid? I ain't--" Aguilar started to get up but Chris clamped a hand on his wrist.

"Sit down and shut up."

Aguilar subsided, wariness replacing his fury. When Chris released his wrist, he rubbed at the red marks left behind.

"As I was saying," Chris continued, "if I decide all you're peddling is a load of bullshit, not only will I see that your sorry ass lands in prison for the maximum sentence, I'll make sure your pal Malone knows you were trying to cut a deal at his expense. And I'm guessing he's not someone you want to piss off."

"What do I care, if I'm stuck behind bars anyway?" Aguilar blustered, but a muscle twitched high on his cheek.

With a smile, Chris settled back in his chair. "I think we both know a man like Big Daddy Malone has the resources and the persistence to overcome any obstacles."

Aguilar licked his lips, his gaze flicking from the fading bruises on Vin's face to his broken fingers. 

Chris pushed away from the table. "This was a waste of time."

"No. Wait." Aguilar rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, turning sullen eyes on Chris. "I'll tell you what you want to know. But you gotta protect me, man."

After regarding him coolly for a long moment, Chris nodded. "Done."

Aguilar scrutinized Chris's expression as if weighing the truth of his statement, then took a deep breath. "Donovan had been slippin' in and out of debt to Malone for more than three years. But the last eight months, his luck was for shit. Got in so deep, he was hockin’ his wife's jewelry just to make his payments."

Vin made a soft sound of disgust. "Jeannie thought she'd lost that ring. She was real upset 'cause it was her great-grandmother's."

"Malone'd let me lean on him, rough him up, but only a little," Aguilar continued. "Every time I wanted my boys to really work him over, he'd tell me not to damage the goods. That havin' a fed in his pocket was gonna come in handy some day."

"Charming," Ezra said.

"Turned out he was right," Aguilar continued. "Couple months ago he sees an article in the paper about the ATF bustin' some guys for selling guns. Donovan's face was right there in black and white." Aguilar shifted his gaze to Vin. "So was yours."

"The Alexander case," Josiah said.

"Son of a bitch," Chris muttered.

"He did some checking, found out you two was pretty tight." Aguilar hitched a shoulder. "Bingo. Donovan's more than just a pain in his ass."

"'Cept I don't know Malone, never even met him," Vin said. "What the hell did he want from me?"

Aguilar curled his lips. "Revenge."

"Bullshit!" Vin slapped his palm on the table. "I just told you, we've never crossed paths."

"Gonna have to do better than that, Benny," Chris said.

"Did I say he wanted revenge for himself?"

"Y' ain't said much of anythin', far as I can tell," Vin snarled.

"Malone's got a younger sister, man. Name’s Kate. She's the one put Frank on your ass."

"A _sister_ You've gotta be . . ." Vin surged to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the chair's back before pacing across the room. "I don't know what kind of scam you're tryin' to pull, Benny, but I don't know Frank Malone, and I for damn sure don't know his sister!"

"I've heard enough," Chris said. "I'm calling the guard."

"The sister's husband used to run action out of Dallas." Benny spoke quickly, the words tumbling over each other. "Some gambling. Drugs. His name was Michael. Michael Cappaletti." He looked at Vin. "Ring any bells?"

From the corner of his eye, Chris saw his friend freeze. He turned in time to watch the color drain from his cheeks. "Vin?"

Vin stumbled back a step, hand fumbling to press against the rough cinderblock wall. His lips moved, but at first no sound emerged. "Cappaletti?"

Chris closed the gap in two quick strides and gripped his friend's arm. The muscle was like iron under his fingers. "Vin. What is it?" 

The sharpshooter just shook his head, his expression as dazed as if he'd been sucker-punched.

"Way I heard it, your buddy and Cappaletti got quite a history," Benny piped up. "He's the one helped bust the dude four years ago. Him and some punk named--"

"Max," Vin breathed.

"Get him the hell out of here!" Chris barked, locking both hands in Vin's shirt as his friend's legs crumpled and he slid down the wall. He vaguely registered Benny's protests, Ezra summoning the guard, and Josiah ushering the disgruntled prisoner out of the room. 

Vin drew his knees to his chest and pressed his forehead to them. Chris eased down so that he was facing him, one hand encircling his friend's ankle. He waved off Ezra and Josiah, his heart pounding as he waited Vin out.

"I remember." Vin's voice was a raspy whisper as he lifted haunted eyes to Chris's face. "I remember all of it."

"I'm listening."

Vin swiped at the sweat beading his upper lip. "'Fore I came to Denver, when I ran away from the last foster home . . . I was livin' in Dallas. On the streets." He paused, gnawing hard on his lip.

"Okay."

"Wasn't long before the money I stole ran out. I had no food. No place to stay. And no one gave a damn about helpin' me." He swallowed hard with a bitter little laugh. "Well, 'cept for a pimp who had his own ideas 'bout how I could make some cash."

Chris's stomach twisted and he heard Ezra's soft hiss of breath.

Vin peered at each of them as if searching for condemnation. What he saw must have given him the courage to continue.

"Right about the time that offer was startin' to look real good, I met Max Cooper." Vin pressed the heel of his hand to his temple with a reluctant smile. "I was fifteen. Max was eighteen, been livin' on the streets most of his life. 

"He caught me goin' through a dumpster--I hadn't eaten in a couple days. Not sure what he saw in a scrawny kid like me, but he took me under his wing. Got me a decent meal and a place to crash in the abandoned warehouse where he lived. More important, he showed me the ropes: the best places to get free food, how to avoid gettin' my ass kicked . . ." He clenched his jaw. "And ways to make money that didn't involve whorin' myself."

"Sounds like a good friend." Josiah's low rumble startled Chris into looking over his shoulder--he hadn't noticed the profiler and Ezra move closer.

"Reckon he saved my life."

"So what happened?" Chris asked quietly. When Vin looked at him, he hitched one shoulder. "You wound up in Denver. Something must have changed."

Sorrow flickered across Vin's expressive features. "Yeah. Max did. All of a sudden, he had more cash, enough to actually buy groceries, to move us out of the dump we were livin' in and get a cheap apartment. At first he'd just say he got a job, wouldn't tell me any more. But eventually I figured it out. He was workin' for Cappaletti."

Chris remained silent. It was obvious from Vin's tone of voice how he'd felt about the situation.

"I couldn't believe it. Despite everythin', all the times we weren't sure how we'd make it from one day to the next, we'd agreed there was some lines we'd never cross. Just 'cause we were surrounded by shit didn't mean we had to smell like it. Takin' money from Cappaletti, the guy responsible for so much of the stink . . ." Vin shook his head.

"I sense that you had a bit of a falling out," Ezra said.

Vin snorted. "More like a knock-down, drag-out. By the time we were done, we'd each taken a piece outta the other's hide. And we'd tossed around some real hard words." 

He tipped his head against the wall and blew out a slow breath. "I moved out that day, left the city not long after. I'd always wanted to see the mountains, so I lit out for Colorado. I put Texas, and Max, outta my mind, and I didn't look back. 

"Then seven years later a bounty I was trackin' took me back to Dallas. Next thing I know, I've stumbled into the middle of an undercover operation the local feds was runnin' on Cappaletti's organization. They pulled in my guy. And guess who was in the cell next door."

"Your buddy Max." Chris winced. "That must've been some reunion."

"Better 'n you might think. All those years had changed us both. Max . . . Well, let's just say the shine was off the penny when it came to how he saw Cappaletti. He wanted out, he just didn't know how."

"So you aided him in brokering a deal," Ezra said. "Not unlike the one Mr. Aguilar hopes to secure." 

"Cappaletti had a big drug buy goin' down and Max knew all the details. With me as his go-between, he delivered ol' Mike to the feds on a silver platter. Judge sentenced the guy to twelve years, and the feds let Max off the hook. Only problem was Cappaletti's people found out and put a price on Max's head."

"They put him in the witness protection program," Chris guessed, sensing where Vin was headed. "Gave him a new identity, a new life."

"The records were sealed," Vin said. "No one was supposed to know where he ended up." 

"Except you do," Chris said quietly. "Don't you, Cowboy?"

"Stupid son of a bitch called me about a year ago. Wanted me to know he was doin' good. That he had a family now, and he was stayin' clean. Asked me to get in touch with his ma, let her know he was okay and not rottin' in a ditch somewhere." Vin squeezed his eyes shut but moisture sparkled in the corners. "Dumb bastard laughed when I told him he shouldn't be talkin' to me. Said by now everyone had forgotten all about him."

"But he was wrong." 

Chris's statement pulled a soft, choked sound of pain from Vin, and he opened his eyes. "When I woke up tied to that chair, hearin' Sean's screams, I knew it was gonna get real bad. I just never expected . . ." His voice cracked. "The first time Westin asked, I . . . I was ready for it to be about the job, you know? Maybe 'bout some case we were workin' on. I could've given him that--would've messed the team up, maybe, and pissed me off for sure, but for Sean . . ."

He tucked his face into his folded arms, his shoulders hunched. "If it'd been anything else, if there'd been some other choice, I'd've never let them . . . But I . . . I couldn't give 'em Max."

Chris laid his hand on Vin's bowed head. It took him a moment to tamp down on his anger before he could speak. "Listen to me, Vin. You think you made a choice, but that's bullshit. There was never a choice to be made." When Vin turned his face to regard him with red-rimmed eyes, he continued more gently. "You have to realize Malone never intended either of you to leave that warehouse alive. The moment you gave up Max's location, Westin would've killed you both."

"I concur," Ezra said. "If set free, you could prevent him from carrying out his vendetta against your friend."

Josiah nodded. "And Sean might eventually crack and admit he helped Malone engineer the kidnapping of two federal agents."

"You hear what we're saying?" Chris held Vin's gaze, wishing he could erase the hurt in those blue eyes. "You've got nothin' to beat yourself up about. You did the right thing."

Instead of answering, Vin pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. "I'm real tired. Could we please just head home?"

Damn. Chris wanted to force the issue, but Josiah gave a slight shake of his head. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he accepted the big man's hand and let himself be tugged upright.

When they got to the door, Vin paused. "Tell me somethin', huh, Chris? If I did the right thing, how come it feels so damn wrong?" He shouldered past the three of them without waiting for an answer.


	15. Chapter 15

"What the hell are you doin' here?"

Chris jerked, his pen skittering across the page and leaving a dark scrawl in its wake. Damn it, Paula down in supply was going to think he filled out the requisition while three sheets to the wind. 

He scowled up at his oldest friend. "Is there a hope in hell you'll learn to use those knuckles for something other than fistfights?"

"Ain't you ever heard of havin' an open-door policy? Fosters good employee-management relations." Buck sprawled into the chair across from him. "And you didn't answer my question."

With exaggerated care, Chris dropped the pen and folded his hands on the blotter. "I'm doing my job, Buck. How about you?"

"Seems to me your _job_ right now should be keepin' an eye on Junior. Way Ezra tells it he was in piss-poor shape when you left the lock-up."

After the conversation he'd had with Vin, Buck's words sparked Chris's anger. "So I'm slacking off at being his friend, is that it? Tell me, Buck, just what do you think I should be doing for him right now?"

Buck had absorbed too many Larabee fits of temper to respond with anything but a raised eyebrow. "Well, gee, Chris, I dunno. How about being there for him in case he needs to talk about this whole godawful mess?"

" _Be_ there for him? Shit, you think I haven't tried? I'd be glued to his side right now if I thought it'd do any good. He's pulling away, hiding behind those damn walls of his." Chris stood and walked to the window, staring out at the sullen, gray clouds. "He told me to leave, Buck. If I hadn't, he'd've called a cab and gone back to his apartment."

"Damn." 

Chris heard the shuffle of feet and a moment later felt Buck's solid presence at his back. A reluctant smile twitched at his lips. Right where he could always count on Buck to be.

"Chris..." Buck moved into his peripheral vision but Chris kept his eyes on the window. "I know you ain't gonna want to hear this, but I think Jim Spencer has got a point."

It took everything he had to keep his anger in check. Chris turned slowly toward his friend, pitching his voice low and deadly. "What did you say?"

Buck held up a placating hand. "Now just listen a minute before you go off on me. I know Jim has been shovelin' a load of bullshit the past week, and Lord knows Travis has had his hands full tryin' to rein him in. But the stuff about Vin seein' a psychiatrist? That ain't so far off the mark."

"You're listening to Spencer now? Next thing you'll be declaring Vin unfit for duty, wanting to pump him full of drugs."

"Oh, cut the crap! You know that's not what I'm sayin'." Running a hand through his hair, Buck took a deep breath. "Think about it, Pard. The physical stuff--the interrogation, the torture--is bad enough on its own. But when you add in the way they messed with his head..."

He didn't want to hear this. Hot resentment bubbled up at Buck's determination to press the issue. "Vin's tough. He can get past it."

"'Course he can. But not without more help than you, or me, or any of the boys can give." Buck gripped his shoulder and Chris saw raw emotion in his eyes. "It's too much for him this time, Chris. Shut me down if you want, but I know you see it, too. It's more than just the nightmares and the not eatin'. He startles at the slightest sound, flinches when you touch him. And the light . . . it's gone clean outta him."

Chris's chest tightened at the truth in Buck's words. "I've already heard this speech from Lorenzo and Travis, and I'll tell you what I told them. He'll never go for it. He's already bitched about having to see the department shrink before he can return to work. And he knows he doesn't have a choice about that."

"Nobody said anything about him likin' it. But he will go for it." Buck paused. "If it comes from you."

"Oh, screw you, Buck."

"Uh-huh." With a faint smile, Buck nodded. "So you know it's true. I ain't sayin' he won't go kickin' and screamin'. Hell, he'll probably use all of them Spanish cuss words. But you gotta stop draggin' your feet, Chris. He respects you more than anybody. You're the one person who can get him to do this. The only one."

Chris gritted his teeth. "Fine."

"You'll talk to him?"

"Just said I would." Didn't mean he had to like it. Chris knew how hard trust came to Vin, and how carefully he guarded his privacy. Pushing him to open up to a complete stranger felt a lot like a betrayal.

Except hearing Buck express his worry crystallized Chris's own. _And the light . . . it's gone clean outta him._ Leave it to Buck to put words to the nagging ache he felt each time he looked at his friend. 

Buck pulled a dog-eared piece of paper from his wallet and pressed it into Chris's hand. "A couple guys Vin's doc suggested."

Chris pocketed the sheet without looking at it and returned to his desk. Buck seemed as if he were going to leave, but hovered in the doorway. "Um . . . one other thing."

Chris dropped his pen. Again. "Just one?"

"Spencer wants to see Vin. Now don't get your panties in a wad," Buck hastened when Chris scowled and his face flushed with anger. "He's heard the whole story, and he feels damn bad about what Vin's been through. To tell you the truth, I think he's lookin' to apologize."

"Damn right the bastard should apologize. But he's not doing it on my watch--not right now, anyway."

"Chris--"

"Josiah and Ezra weren't exaggerating, Buck. Vin is in piss-poor shape right now. The last thing he needs is Jim Spencer's load of guilt piled on top of his own. Keep him away. I mean it."

Buck blew out a breath and bobbed his head. "I'll try and hold him off."

"See that you do. Because if he pulls another number on Vin like the one at the hospital? I won't be responsible for my actions."

He picked up his pen and resumed writing, not bothering to look up when Buck left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was going on eight o'clock when Chris pulled in the gravel driveway and shut off the engine. The house was dark, not even a glimmer of light spilling from the large front windows. He couldn't quite squelch a frisson of anxiety at the sight. 

He'd done as Vin asked, honored his request to be left alone. Yet barely a minute had gone by these past five hours that he hadn't questioned the wisdom of that decision. Vin had been quiet when they left the lock-up. Shell-shocked. Chris knew it was his friend's instinct to withdraw when he was hurting. His gut told him he should be fighting that impulse, rather than enabling it.

He paused inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness rather than turning on a light. Expecting to find Vin down by the corral or out on the deck, he was caught off guard by the motionless shadow on the den couch.

"Hey." He stripped off his coat and sank onto the opposite end.

"Hey."

When several minutes passed with nothing but the sound of the ticking clock, Chris cleared his throat. "Mind if I turn on a light?"

"Yeah. I do."

More silence, and Chris was again the one to break it. "You eat?"

"Nope."

"Want me to warm up some of that stew?"

"Not hungry."

Well, hell. So much for hoping a little solitude would improve Vin's state of mind.

"You gonna help me out or just leave me swinging in the wind?" Chris let his frustration bleed into his voice.

Vin's face was an indistinct blur in the darkness, and his voice was just as featureless. "Reckon I'm not feelin' too helpful right now."

"Turtling up isn't going to solve anything. This isn't going to go away."

No response, and now it was really pissing Chris off. "You've got to talk about it, Vin."

His friend tensed, then stood, his stiff movements testifying that he'd been sitting in the same position for some time. "Told you before and I'll tell you again--I don't gotta do nothin'." He started to walk away, presumably headed toward the bedroom.

"Lorenzo gave Buck the names of a couple psychiatrists. I want you to see one of them." Chris paused, steeling himself. "I won't certify you for active duty until you do."

Vin froze, then slowly turned around. "Fuck you, Larabee." The words vibrated with the force of his anger. "You've got no right--"

"I've got every right, you jackass! I'm your friend, and I'm not about to sit back and watch you self-destruct." 

"I won't."

"Really?" Chris turned on the lamp and gestured to the mirror over the bar. "Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?"

Vin flicked a brief glance at his reflection. "Nothin' to see."

"The hell." Chris was up and across the room in three quick strides. Grasping his friend firmly by the shoulders, he turned him toward the mirror.

"You've lost weight--clothes are hanging on you, and I can see you're wearing your belt a notch tighter. There are dark circles around your eyes from not sleeping, and pain lines from the headaches. But that's not the worst of it."

When Chris first began speaking, Vin had glared sightlessly into the mirror, his jaw clenched. Now, his gaze shifted to focus on Chris's reflection.

"You don't laugh anymore," Chris continued quietly. "Hell, you hardly even smile. It's like you've got a weight pressing down on you, and it's slowly smothering you. You've always burned so bright, Vin, in spite of all the shit life's dealt you. But now, it's . . . it's just like Buck said. The light has gone clean out of you."

"Bucklin said that?" Vin closed his eyes, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"He's worried about you. We all are." With a parting squeeze, Chris released Vin's shoulders and returned to the couch.

Still appearing stunned, Vin followed. "Don't mean to put the worry on you." He tipped his chin up. "I can handle this on my own. Trust me."

"With my life. But not with this." Chris held up a hand before Vin could retort. "You're too close. You're lost in this mess, and you can't see the way out. You need help--and from someone who knows what they're doing. I'm just making sure you get it."

Vin scowled, his shoulders tightening. "Who the hell are you to decide what's best for me?"

"Someone who's walked the path." Chris pressed onward though Vin avoided his gaze, choosing to stare out at the moonlit deck. "I let it eat me alive, the grief, the guilt. Crawled into a bottle--hell, my stomach's still paying for those months. I holed up here like a wild animal licking my wounds, and I did everything I could to drive the boys away. The way I treated Buck . . ." He shook his head, a wave of regret tightening his throat.

"But you made it through. And I'm guessin' you never spilled your guts to a shrink."

"I wish to God I had." Chris felt a spark of hope at Vin's unguarded look of shock before he quickly narrowed his eyes.

"The hell you do."

"I nearly killed myself, Vin. But what's worse, I put the team in danger. Josiah took a bullet during a bust because I didn't have my head on straight. I'm damn lucky I never got anyone killed. Maybe if Travis had been a little more demanding and a little less sympathetic, things never would have gotten as bad." 

He took a calming breath, lowering his voice. "I'll tell you what I've learned. You either deal with the shit, or the shit deals with you. You can try to ignore it all you like, push it down deep where it doesn't show. But it'll still be there, waiting to pop back up when you least expect it. And God help you, and the people closest to you, when it does."

"I ain't gonna fall apart on you." But rather than belligerent, Vin sounded uncertain.

"Haven't you heard a word I've said?" Chris asked, affection, exasperation, and sorrow coloring the gentle rebuke. "Pard, you already are."

Vin was very still for a long moment. Then his breathing hitched, and he ducked his head, raising a trembling hand to shield his eyes. 

"Hell." Sliding closer, Chris wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Thought rememberin' would make it better," Vin choked. "But knowin' what I did . . . It hurts so bad."

There was no point trying to convince Vin that he wasn't guilty--Chris figured he'd leave that monumental task to the professionals. Instead, he tightened his grip. "I know."

Finally, Vin leaned into him, accepting the comfort. "I'm so tired."

"Got every right to be. It's been a helluva few weeks."

"Sometimes . . . don't think I can do this anymore."

The despondency in the raspy whisper sent a prickle of unease up the back of Chris's neck. Was Vin talking about the job this time? Or something more dangerous? Either way, he understood.

"I've been there. But you're going to get through this, I promise. It's just that this time? You're not gonna do it alone."

Vin made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Don't suppose I got much choice. Yer a bossy buncha bastards--the whole lot of ya."

"Damn straight." 

Without breaking his embrace, Chris fished the list of doctors from his pocket and slipped it into Vin's hand. While his friend stared at it, Chris held his breath, wondering if those long fingers would tighten, crumpling it into a ball. He could feel the war raging within Vin through the muscles thrumming under his grasp. After what seemed an eternity, Vin folded the paper and tucked it into his own pocket. Then the tension flowed out of him, and he sagged against Chris.

"All them fancy degrees and Lorenzo's writin' still looks like chicken scratches."

Chris snickered, dropping his arm as they settled side by side into the cushions. "You ever seen a doctor's writing that doesn't? I think there's a required class on it in med school." Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, he scooped up the remote. "Mind if I turn on the TV? Green Bay is playing Denver tonight."

"Why not? It'll give me somethin' else to be depressed about."

"Could always become a Broncos fan."

Vin snorted. "I'd sooner date one of Bucklin's women."

If the humor was forced, Chris could overlook it. And if he wound up with an ache in his shoulder from playing pillow to a snoozing sharpshooter, that was okay, too. For three weeks he'd been telling himself everything was going to be okay. 

For the first time, he believed it.


	16. Chapter 16

_Four days later_

 

"Tip your chin up."

"I'm sick and tired of this shit." But Vin did as he was told, staring over Chris's shoulder while his friend's fingers worked the tie at his throat. 

"Relax. A couple more weeks and you'll be able to start using those fingers."

"Couple more weeks might as well be a lifetime."

Chris didn't reply. Instead, he gave a final tug, then smoothed the strip of silk with his palm. "Now there's a sight you don't see every day. Hell, Tanner, you clean up pretty good."

Vin looked down at his crisp, white dress shirt and, thanks to Ezra, tasteful silk tie. The reason for his attire crashed into him, and he was abruptly annoyed with Chris's harmless banter. "Yeah, well, don't get excited. Someone's gotta die for me to dress this way."

He regretted the jibe the moment it left his lips. Before Chris could respond, he pulled away and limped into the kitchen, cursing his stupidity and the pain in his feet. Damn dress shoes were gonna be killers on his still-healing toes.

He took a mug from the cupboard, sensing Chris's presence at his back. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that his friend was propped in the doorway, watching him with those understanding eyes. "Coffee?"

"Had mine while you were in the shower."

Vin busied himself with pouring and stirring, trying to ignore the eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. When he couldn't stall any longer, he turned, leaning against the counter. "You gonna tell me what was so all-fired important that J.D. had to call here at 7:30 a.m.?" he asked, sipping the hot brew.

"Now may not be the best time."

"Don't give me that shit. Whatever it is, I want to hear it."

Chris regarded him for a long moment. "We know how Malone figured out you'd talked to Max."

Despite the churning in his stomach, Vin kept his expression blank. "His mom?"

"Yeah." Chris moved into the room and sat in one of the wooden chairs. "Turns out Malone had her under surveillance."

Vin set aside his mug, unable to take another swallow. "So when I called her . . ." He closed his stinging eyes. Oh, God. He might as well have painted a target on her back. His eyes flew open. "Is she . . . ?"

"She's fine." Chris nudged a chair toward him. "Sit. You're white as a ghost." When he complied his friend continued. "They had the phone tapped, so they heard the whole conversation. Including you refusing to tell her where her son is. They knew she was a dead end, Vin. That's why they targeted you."

"I could've gotten her killed." He felt numb. Lightheaded.

Chris's fingers gripped his arm, bringing him back. "Bullshit. Max could've gotten her killed. You saved her life by making it clear you weren't going to give her his location."

"Yer splittin' hairs."

"And you're too willing to take the fall for this mess. Damn it, _you're_ the victim here, Vin. Max had no business putting you in jeopardy by making contact."

Vin pinched the bridge of his nose. Barely nine o'clock and the headache was already building. "That was a year ago. Why didn't Malone come after me then?"

"You called from a public phone and only used your first name. Took him time to figure out who you were. And then, I guess the fact that you're a fed made him cautious. He was waiting for an opening, and he's a patient son of a bitch. When he saw that picture of you and Sean in the paper . . ."

"He had his opening." Vin shook his head. "I can't believe that bastard Cappaletti was holdin' a grudge all this time. Hell, he had a bunch of fancy lawyers--he must've gotten paroled by now." Something unreadable flickered in Chris's eyes. "What?"

"Michael Cappaletti was stabbed during an altercation between two groups of inmates about six months into his sentence. He's dead, Vin."

"Dead?" Vin dropped his forehead into his palm with a ragged laugh. "Shit, we made Malone's little sister a grievin' widow? No wonder he wants to nail Max's ass."

"We're gonna get him, Pard. For what he did to you. To Sean." Chris's voice was infinitely gentle. "It may take some time to build a case, but with Benny's testimony we've got a good foundation."

He knew he should respond with something reassuring to convince Chris he was okay, but his brain felt sluggish, the circuits overloaded. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry as sandpaper. Something cool touched his fingers and he blinked, focusing on a slick plastic water bottle. Huh. He'd never even noticed Chris go to the fridge.

Cracking the cap, Vin downed half the contents. Though he still felt that sense of detachment, his thoughts were sharper. "What about Max?"

"They're already in the process of moving him." Chris's gaze turned flinty, and his voice dropped to a growl. "They'll make sure the idiot knows the cost of his stupidity. He won't be making contact with you again."

For a long time they sat in silence, Vin sipping from the water bottle and Chris shooting him worried glances. He could see Chris struggling, the need to question warring with the desire to give him space. It would almost be amusing, if not for the ache in his chest. He mustered a weak smile.

"'S okay. You can ask."

Chris's mouth curved in response. "Just wondering what's going on in that head of yours."

"Hell, pick somethin' easy, why don't you?" Vin pressed the bottle to his throbbing temple. "It's never really gonna be over, you know? I'm always gonna be lookin' over my shoulder, wonderin' if someone will think I can lead 'em to Max. And we can bury Sean's body today, but every time I see Jeannie and that baby . . ." His voice cracked and he clamped his lips firmly together.

Chris gave him a moment to rein in his emotions before speaking. "First of all, you've got six ornery cusses watching your back. And as for Sean, well, time takes care of a lot of the hurt. Could be someday you'll be able to remember the good things, instead of the bad."

He wanted to believe that, with a fierceness that hurt. Sighing, he shoved himself to his feet. "Best get movin'. Service is in less than an hour."

"Then let's ride." Chris guided him out of the kitchen, a hand pressed to his neck.

It didn't take away that ache in Vin's chest. But it sure as hell blunted the pain.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The final words of the minister's prayer drifted away on the breeze, replaced by the mourners' hushed whispers as they wandered to their cars. His collar turned up against the cold, Vin stared at the flag-draped coffin.

A warm hand settled on his shoulder, chasing away a little of the chill. 

"Been a long day. You ready to head out?" Chris asked.

Vin gestured to the woman still seated on a folding chair. "I'd like to talk to Jeannie for a minute." 

Chris gave his shoulder a pat before dropping his hand. "Boys and I will be right over there," he said, indicating a clump of aspen trees.

Jeannie stood as he approached, her smile tear-bright. "Vin." She pulled him into a hug, burying her nose in the crook of his neck. "I'm so glad you came."

He swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Jeannie pulled back, swiping at damp, blotchy cheeks with a handkerchief. "I'd have understood if you hadn't."

Vin shrugged, his gaze drifting back to the coffin. "Reckon it's like you said--he was my friend." They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Vin cleared his throat. "How're you holdin' up?"

"I don't know . . . I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet." She gestured over her shoulder to where an older couple stood waiting, twisting her mouth in a wry grimace. "I'm going to be living with my parents in Chicago until the baby's born and I can figure out what to do with the rest of my life." 

The renewed sense of loss was like a punch to his gut. "You ain't comin' back. Are you?"

Tears welled in Jeannie's eyes and she pressed the handkerchief to her trembling lips. When she finally spoke, her voice was wispy. "I don't think . . . It hurts living in that house, passing the park where we used to walk, the lake where we were going to build our dream home--"

"Seein' me," Vin said quietly.

"No." She cupped his jaw with small, cold fingers. "It isn't you, Vin. That damn casino, maybe, but never you. I just . . . I fell in love with Sean when I was sixteen years old and I . . . I've never pictured a life without him in it." Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin. "I've got to make a fresh start, and I'll never be able to do that here."

He nodded, regret tangled up with relief. "You better keep in touch. I'd like to know what that new life looks like, once you figure it out."

"I will." Stretching up on her toes, she gazed intently into his eyes. "You be good to yourself, Kevin Tanner. You deserve a fresh start, too."

A quick kiss to his cheek and she was walking briskly across the grass, while he blinked burning eyes and tried to breathe around the weight on his chest. 

A fresh start? He just wished he shared Jeannie's conviction that he deserved one. More than anything, he wanted to leave the last few weeks behind. 

"Hey, Vin. Got a minute?"

With a jerk, Vin spun around, his hand reflexively reaching for a nonexistent weapon as he took in the tall, trench-coated figure. 

Jim Spencer shuffled a quick step backward, hands raised. "Damn, I'm sorry. Thought you heard me coming."

Vin let his hand fall to his side, but watched Spencer with wary eyes. "Reckon I'm not exactly at the top of my game."

"That's understandable. Look, Vin, I--" Spencer broke off as Chris stormed up, Buck hot on his heels.

"Damn it, Spencer, what is it about 'back off' you don't get?" He knotted his fingers in the coat, crowding into the man's personal space.

"Seems to me you're the one who needs to back off." Spencer knocked aside Chris's hand, giving him a sharp shove for good measure. "This doesn't concern you, Larabee."

"Anything that involves one of my men concerns me."

"I only want to talk to him."

Chris curled his lip, his voice low and deadly. "I'd say you've done more than enough talking where Vin's concerned. Or did you just feel the need to twist the knife?"

Buck winced. "Now hold on, Chris, that ain't no way--"

"You sonuvabich! I ought to--" Spencer snarled

Chris's smile was distinctly unfriendly. "Bring it on. I've wanted a piece of your hide for more than a week." 

Vin stared, slack-jawed, as the words flew thick and fast. Anger quickly replaced bemusement, and he waded into the fray. "Shut up, all of ya!" 

Though he'd been shooting for a roar, his still-healing vocal chords produced more of a croak. But he had the satisfaction of abrupt silence as three heads swiveled in his direction.

Stepping between Chris and Spencer, he pressed a hand to his friend's chest. "'Preciate you watchin' my back," he said, pitching his voice for Chris's ears alone. "But if I need help, I'll ask for it."

They locked eyes, and Vin could clearly read the worry and irritation in Chris's sharp, green gaze. 

After a long moment, Chris inclined his head, his lips set in a grim line. "I'll hold you to that." With a parting glare at Spencer, he followed Buck back to where the others were watching with undisguised curiosity.

Spencer rolled his shoulders, smoothing his coat with a short laugh. "I can see how Larabee gets his reputation as a badass."

Vin didn't smile. "Never had a better boss, and I sure as hell never had a better friend."

"I didn't mean . . . Shit." Spencer ducked his head, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I'm screwing this up--'course, that's pretty much what I've been doing since this whole nightmare started."

"You said you wanted to talk to me." The _so talk_ was clearly implied.

With a nod, Spencer drew in a deep breath. "I've read the reports. I know who was behind the kidnapping, and why, and Sean's part in all of it. I'm guessing your team has been doing their best to convince you none of it was your fault. That you did the only thing you could do."

Every muscle in Vin's body clenched as if preparing for a physical blow. "Sounds about right."

"I was hoping it might help if you heard the same from me." The shock must have bled onto Vin's face--Spencer's lips twisted into a wry grimace. "Surprised?"

It took him a moment to find his voice. "Was just wonderin' who you are and what you did with Jim Spencer."

He barked a laugh. "I guess I deserve that." The smile faded from his lips. "What I'm trying to say is . . . I owe you an apology, Vin. I was so determined to find a missing teammate, I lost my perspective. You were put in an impossible situation. And I'm so damn sorry if anything I've said or done has made you doubt your actions."

It shouldn't matter so much. But somehow absolution from this man, who had shown such fierce loyalty to Sean, eased the guilt in ways that Chris's assurances had not.

Vin lifted one shoulder. "Reckon we all get a little crazy when a friend's life is on the line." With a nod at the huddle of men behind Spencer, he smirked. "Even Larabee."

Spencer chuckled. "Yeah. Guess I've got a few more fences to mend before I'm through." He looked at Vin, his gaze searching. "You did the right thing, Vin. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."

His throat tight, Vin looked away. "'Preciate it."

"But do you believe it?"

Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to meet Spencer's gaze. "That part's gonna take time."

"Yeah. Well, if I can do anything to help you along, let me know." Spencer held out his hand. "We good?"

Letting his hand be enfolded in a firm grip, Vin nodded. "Reckon so."

"All right, then." Spencer tipped his head toward where Chris was glaring furiously at the two of them. "Think I'll head out before Larabee blows a gasket."

It pulled a genuine laugh from him. "Probably not a bad idea."

"Take care of yourself, kiddo."

Vin was still trying to sort through what he was feeling when he was surrounded by six overprotective mother hens--all of them talking.

"Hey, Vin, we're gonna head to the Saloon for a drink. You coming?" J.D.

"Only if he sticks to a Coke. He can't be mixin' alcohol with them painkillers." Nathan.

"Aw, Nathan, lighten up. Hell, one itty-bitty whiskey ain't gonna kill the boy." Buck.

"Considerin' the rotgut you choose to imbibe, Mr. Wilmington, I wouldn't be so sure." Ezra.

"To everything there is a season, brothers, and a time to every purpose under heaven." Josiah.

"You okay?" Chris. By his side. At his back. A constant amid all the chaos.

Vin smiled. "Not yet. But I think I will be."


	17. Chapter 17

_One month later_

 

"Well, would you lookit what the cat dragged in!"

Chris lifted his head at the sound of Buck's greeting, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Vin before he was surrounded by his teammates. He set down his pen and moved to stand in the doorway to his office, watching with satisfaction as Vin's cheeks flushed from all the attention.

"Vin! No one told me you were coming by!" J.D. stuck out his hand, and he and Vin proceeded to execute the elaborate shake that was comprehensible only to the two of them.

"That's 'cause we didn't know, kid." Buck inspected Vin, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Lookin' better every day, Junior. Them therapy sessions with the lovely Sandra are agreein' with you." He waggled his eyebrows.

Vin rolled his eyes. "Get yer mind outta the gutter, Bucklin. I been workin' my ass off."

"How those fingers comin' along?" Nathan asked. "You gettin' more mobility? Still havin' much pain?"

With a tolerant sigh, Vin held up his hand and flexed the fingers. Though some residual stiffness was obvious, even from a distance Chris could see he had nearly achieved full function.

"Still a mite clumsy," Vin said, "but it's gettin' there."

"If you'd like, I could show you a few exercises that would increase dexterity." Ezra flashed his gold tooth. "Ones I doubt your lovely therapist will have employed."

"'Preciate it, Ez."

"It's quittin' time, Friday night." Josiah rested a large hand on Vin's shoulder. "We were headed to the Saloon to grab some dinner. Care to join us, brother?"

"Could eat." Vin locked eyes with Chris as he spoke. "But I got a little business to take care of first."

There was an instant of silence as everyone registered the fact that Vin's "business" involved Chris, and then they began gathering their things and moving toward the elevator. 

"See you there," Buck called, punching the down button. "We'll save you boys some seats."

When the doors had finally shut on the boys' boisterous banter, Chris raised an eyebrow. "This official business?"

His expression unreadable, Vin nodded. "Reckon so."

"C'mon in, then. Have a seat." 

Once behind his desk, Chris surreptitiously studied his friend. His stomach fluttered unpleasantly, and he resisted the urge to pop an antacid. Though he was pretty damn sure he knew what this was about, Vin was wearing a poker face worthy of Ezra.

"You come from the doctor?" Chris asked.

"Yep." Vin sprawled comfortably in the chair, his legs crossed at the ankles.

When he didn't volunteer anything more, Chris sighed. "How'd that go?"

"Pretty good." He tipped the chair on its back legs, rocking a little.

"You look like you're finally getting some sleep."

Vin shrugged. "Still havin' bad dreams, but they ain't comin' every night."

"You got your appetite back yet?"

"Put on a few pounds."

And that was the point where Chris's limited supply of patience ran out. "Damn it, Vin, you'd make the Sphinx look chatty. You got something to say to me, or not?"

"Reckon I do."

"Then why the hell aren't you talking?"

One corner of Vin's mouth turned up in a lopsided grin and his blue eyes twinkled. "Just like seein' if I can make that vein in your forehead pop out."

It'd been too damn long since he'd seen this Vin--the mischievous prankster who'd changed Buck's ring tone to "Macho Man" and superglued all of Ezra's poker chips together.

Swallowing down the surge of emotion, Chris made a show of narrowing his eyes. "That won't be the only thing around here that's throbbing if you don't start flapping your gums."

"All right, all right. Cranky bastard." Vin reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope bearing Chris's name. He fingered it for a moment before tossing it onto the desk.

Chris's heart lurched, and at first he could only stare at the innocent white rectangle. With a sideways glance at Vin, he picked it up and slid his finger under the flap, removing a single sheet of paper. As he read, a smile blossomed and took over his face. "Doc thinks you're ready to come back." He peered at Vin over the top of the page.

"Yep."

Chris set aside the paper and braced his forearms on the blotter. "And how 'bout you, Pard? What do you think?"

The laughter left Vin's eyes and the chair dropped back to the floor with a soft thump. "Was a time I didn't think I'd ever be ready."

Chris nodded. He knew Vin had been wrestling with the idea of quitting. When he'd first seen the envelope, he'd feared it contained a resignation. He stood, walking around to lean against the front of his desk. "And now?"

Gazing out the window, Vin massaged the fingers of his left hand. It was a gesture Chris had seen often over the past month; one he doubted Vin was aware of.

"Guess I finally remembered I love this damn job--even if it means workin' with six ornery cusses who'd try the patience of a saint." He looked at Chris, his eyes bright. "I ain't had too many things in my life worth fightin' for. And I'll be damned if I'll let that sonuvabitch Malone steal one of 'em."

It felt as if a weight had been lifted from Chris's heart. "Glad to hear it. Wouldn't be the same around here without you watching our backs."

Vin quirked him a grin. "'S a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it."

Chris sobered. "I'm proud of you, Vin."

A flush crept up Vin's neck, and he tucked his chin to his chest. "No reason to be."

"You're wrong. A lot of guys couldn't've made it past everything you've gone through." Chris shook his head. "Not sure I would have."

"Bullshit." Vin's gaze was incredulous. "You're the strongest person I know, Chris. Hell, you're the reason I--" He broke off, his voice husky. "I wouldn't've made it through the last two months without you."

Locking forearms, they stared at each other--everything expressed in that iron grip. The moment was broken when Chris's phone rang. "Ten dollars says it's Buck, wondering where we are," he said. 

"More likely J.D. doin' Bucklin's dirty work." 

They shook hands, and Chris punched the button to put it on speaker. "Hello?"

Clinking glasses and the low murmur of voices filtered through the speaker before J.D.'s mile-a-minute chatter blocked them out. "Hey, Chris, what's taking you guys so long? We've got a pitcher of beer, and Inez just brought over some nachos. We're trying to save you some, but I'm starving. You are still coming, aren't--" He cut off as a familiar voice mumbled in the background. "Buck says to tell you the beer's getting warm and the food's getting cold." More mumbling. "And whatever Vin's business is, it concerns the rest of us, too."

"Tell Buck next time he's got something to say to me he can call me himself," Chris said, ignoring Vin's smirk. "We'll be there in five."

He hit the disconnect button and stood, reaching for his jacket. "Let's go. We wouldn't want to keep Buck waiting."

When they reached the doorway, Vin stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "Think you've forgotten something."

Chris frowned. "Yeah? Like what?"

With a smirk, Vin held out his hand, palm up. "A bet's a bet, Larabee." 

Grumbling, Chris pulled the last ten from his wallet and slapped it into his friend's palm. "I had plans for that."

Vin tucked the bill into his pocket with a grin. "Me, too. I'm havin' dinner with the lovely Sandra tomorrow night."

"Your physical therapist? The one Buck's been mooning over?" When Vin nodded, Chris laughed out loud. "You know it's gonna kill him when he finds out."

"Well, hell, Chris, why do you think I'm waitin' for just the right moment? Some things just have to be savored."

"Yeah. They do." His throat suddenly tight, Chris slung an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It's good to have you back, Vin."

"Good to be back." Mischief took over Vin's smile, and he tipped his head at the elevators. "Now how 'bout we go break the news to Bucklin?"

Chris grinned. "Let's ride."


End file.
